The Love Games
by OddCoupler222
Summary: Hope, dread, desperation, emotion. Love. Peeta Mellark had watched the Hunger Games ever since he could remember. But when he was sixteen, they ceased to be the Hunger Games, and turned into the Love Game. The Hunger Games told in Peeta's point of view.
1. The Reaping

**Don't own the Hunger Games. Wish I had been that brilliant…

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There is only one good thing about reaping day. It is the one day a year I don't have to get up early, I think as I roll over in bed and see the sun streaming in through my window. It's eight o'clock now, which is considered to be pretty early to my friends. But to me, waking up this late is a luxury not to be overlooked. As the children of bakers, my brothers and I work bakers' hours. Which means we normally wake up when our parents do, at four in the morning, even on school days.

I look to the other side of the room and see that my brother, Lucern, is still sleeping soundly. Well, not really soundly, as he snores like a chainsaw, but I know he won't be waking up for at least two more hours. Lucern is the laziest human being on the planet; if he could sleep until ten or eleven every day he would in a heartbeat. He has basically nothing to worry about, anyway. It's his last year of being eligible for reaping, and his name is only in that big pot once.

I don't really have to worry about being reaped, either. Nine times out of ten, both male and female candidates from District 12 are kids from the Seam. Most of them have taken out tesserae several years in a row to help out their families, whereas my brothers and I have plenty of grain and oil. We may eat stale bread at most every meal, but it's definitely worth not enhancing our troubles of being chosen to compete in the games.

As much as I would like to walk into the kitchen in my pajamas, after all it is my one day off, I know my mother would flip out if myself or either of my brothers walked around looking "no better than any of those Seam kids." So I change into my typical reaping day outfit: the same slacks my brothers wore before they outgrew them, and a white button down shirt. Then I make my bed, once again to avoid a verbal, possible physical, punishment from my mother, before I go down the hall to the family kitchen.

There's no one in here, which is something I like. We live above the bakery, so it's not like we have a ton of space. I share my room with a guy who prefers to lay in bed and nap during whatever free time he has, and if I'm not working downstairs with my parents, we're all, basically, up here either in the kitchen or living room. Alone time here is rare. It was even more rare before my oldest brother, Thyler, got married to Hailey Lonesmith, and moved in with her. As part of the merchant class here in 12, it's difficult to move "up the social latter" as there aren't many people here that have a higher social status. Mayor Undersee and a handful of others, including Mr. Lonesmith, who oversees production of over half of the coal mines here.

I take out a few stale rolls of bread and a glass of water before sitting at the table. My family kitchen is preferable to the bakery kitchen downstairs, as I associate it with memories of joking around with my brothers, cooking a meal with my father, having a family dinner. Downstairs is where I frost cakes and make cookies that I'm not allowed to eat, where I make a mistake and get hit with whatever my mother has handy. A rolling pin, a spoon, a whisk, and, on the occasion she has nothing to hit with or throw, her hand.

By this point, I'm eating my second of the three rolls I grabbed, and I'm leaning back in my chair with my ankles crossed. As soon as I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, I assume it's my mother, and I hastily sit up straight and sit properly at the table, only to relax when I see that it's my father.

"Good morning, dad." I use this as my greeting, but I know that my dad has already been up for hours. Even on reaping day, he's up at the usual time, making trades and going about informal business.

He smiles, but doesn't say anything back. My dad, while unquestionably the warmer, more affectionate parent, isn't a man of many words. We're in a comfortable silence as I finish my bread and water and he patters around the kitchen. In most of my friends' families, their mothers are the ones who do the kitchen pattering. But in my house, the kitchen is our father's domain. My mom works in the bakery downstairs, but that was all a matter of circumstance; she works in the bakery because she married the baker. Even when it comes to meals, my dad gladly takes on the task.

I stand and wash my glass as my father puts a tea kettle on the stove, saying his first words of the morning. "Got any plans with your friends for after the reaping?" I shake my head, and he says, "I traded with the Hawthorne boy this morning, got a good squirrel to make stew with. I'm planning on a pretty big dinner tonight; Thyler and Hailey are coming over. I was wondering if you'd like to help."

This is another aspect to my father that separates him from my mother. In my mom's mind, if she wants us to do something, like help her make dinner, then she doesn't even have to ask if we have plans, because she automatically assumes we reserve our time for her even on our days off. Of course, if she asked myself or my brothers, we would help her with whatever she wanted. It's just nice to be asked. "Yeah, sounds like a plan."

My mother calls for my father from the next room over, and before he goes, he whispers to me, "Since we're having a nice supper, perhaps you'd like to make your way downstairs and bake some fresh bread for tonight, while your mother is too busy knitting to keep her watchful eye on the bakery. I have it on good authority she'll be knitting for at least an hour or two." With a wink and a good natured slap on my shoulder, he goes to find my mom.

Glad to have something to do, I go downstairs and tie on an apron. My father and I do have many differences. We both have the blond hair and blue eyes typical of 12's merchant class, but mine my hair and eyes are shades lighter than his. I'm talkative and I enjoy meeting new people and keeping company with my friends. My father is reserved and tends to shy away from people. But the one thing that connects us is our love for baking. My brothers both work here, and have for as long as we can remember, but they do it because they have to. Because of family obligation, to stay out of the mines, and to stay away from poverty and starvation. I enjoy the work, and would like to work here even if I didn't have to.

Due to many years of practice and experience, the bread dough is made, shaped, and in the oven in very little time. While it bakes, I make little designs out of the excess flour that's still on the wooden board. I love frosting the cakes more than anything, and that's mostly because I have artistic freedom. Even my mom agrees that my cakes, and the designs on them, are second to none.

By the time the bread is done, and cool enough for me to take upstairs, it's ten o'clock. I was exactly correct in my assumption that Lucern wouldn't be getting out of bed until now. He's sitting in the kitchen, his elbow on the table, chin resting in his palm. He gives me a sleepy grin as I enter, "Hey Peeta. Is that fresh bread? I wonder what mother would make of that… tsk tsk."

I put the bread in the back of a drawer that holds our spices, one that only my father and I go into, then turn around to face my brother, "I wonder what mom would make of you still being in your sleep clothes, with your elbow on the table."

At the same time we both heighten our tones so they're practically shrill, "You pig! What manners are these? Certainly not the ones I raised you with!"

We both chuckle until we hear our mother coming down the hall and we make our faces stern. I stand up completely so I'm not leaning on the counter and my brother straightens up in his chair, letting both arms fall to his sides, just in time for her to be standing in the doorway. She's angry, which isn't a surprise, and, luckily for me, her anger is directed at my brother. "Lucern! Your bed is unmade, your side of your bedroom is a mess! What manners are there? Certainly not the ones I raised you with!"

When mother is angry about something, it's an unspoken command that you remedy whatever it is that's she's angry about _before_ she has to ask you. Lucern stands, and I can see that there's a hope in his eyes that mother doesn't realize he's still in his pajamas. He has no such luck, as she whacks him on the shoulder as he passes her and she screams down the hallway at him, "And change out of those clothes! You weren't raised in the Seam, so don't act like it!"

As we hear the bedroom door close, my mom walks father into the kitchen, sniffing, "What is that smell? Did you make fresh bread, Peeta? That's such an incredible waste!"

Even though I did so on my father's orders, I know better than to say that, "No, ma'am. I just re-heated some rolls from last night."

She looks at me with her measuring eyes and I smile back at her. Thank goodness I've learned to lie over the years. Finally, she nods, and mutters something about having all sons and no daughters. Pigs. The lot of us. Since she's not directing any conversation my way, I know I'm allowed to leave the room. Her voice stops me when I reach the doorway, "Peeta, make sure you comb your hair before the reaping. I don't want my sons all looking like ragamuffins."

I nod, "I will, mom." Before I make my way down the hall, into my bedroom.

Lucern jumps, as he hasn't made his bed or picked anything up. He hasn't even changed out of his pajamas, yet. When he sees that it's me, he calms. "Only you. You gave me a scare for a moment."

I shut the door behind me and walk over to sit on the edge of my bed. "Why don't you just take care of what she wants done, then you won't have to live in temporary fear?"

He seems to consider this, though I know he's really not, as this is a conversation we have almost daily, "Nah. I'll be fine. You up for a game of cards?"

So that's how we kill our time until the reaping. At one, Lucern finally changes out of his pajamas, we both comb our hair at the command of mother, then we walk together as a family to the square. Mother and father stop at the roped off area, meeting up with Thyler and Hailey. Thyler greets both me and Lucern with a smile, and a slap on the shoulder. His encouragement to us is, "Hey, at least this is Lucern's last year, and Peeta, you'll be done in two more. Nothing to worry about, yeah?"

We keep walking, until we reach the front, where I stop and stand with my friends from school, and Lucern walks to the front, where the other eighteen-year-old men stand. My friends and I goof around a bit, and make plans to hang out tomorrow. We talk, and our group grows as more and more people start to come.

Though the divide isn't actually spoken about, our group is separated in half. Where I stand with my friends, we are the merchants. The kids from the Seam stand with us in the same group, but all stand together, slightly away. It isn't just my group; it's every group. The twelve-year-olds right up through the eighteen year-olds. All of our groups represent District 12, in a way. The merchant kids and the Seam kids all live in one district, but, generally, that's where the similarities end. My friends ignore the Seams and they ignore us.

I look up at those who are arriving now, at just past one. I can't decide if that was a good decision or not, as I see Katniss Everdeen walk in, accompanied by Gale Hawthorne. My stomach tightens and gets that strange, but awfully pleasant warm feeling, the same way it does whenever I see her. But she and Hawthorne together is an image I see all too often for my taste. I have nothing personally against him. I can't even dislike him for being so close with Katniss. I can't admit that they're dating – my mind refuses to acknowledge the fact that everyone already knows. I don't know why. It's not like I've ever had the courage to even have a conversation with the girl.

I follow my Katniss Guideline, which states that I'm allowed to ogle her for about a minute before I reach a stalker capacity. So I watch her, trying to ignore the fact that she's talking to Hawthorne, until she reaches the group of sixteen year old girls, across from where I'm standing, and I order myself to look away.

I continue talking with my friends as the crowd gets bigger and bigger, and finally all of the attention is on the temporary stage. Silence falls as Mayor Undersee starts his same old speech. Panem was created through the destruction of certain places in North America. The Capitol was at the center of thirteen districts, everything was good, then came the Dark Days where the districts fought against the Capitol. District 13 was destroyed, the rest were subdued, and the Hunger Games were instituted. At the end he reads off the very short list of previous District 12 Hunger Games winners.

Haymitch Abernathy is all there is surviving, and he stumbles onto the stage, making a fool of himself. He's drunk, just as he is every other day of his life here in 12. Effie Trinket is clearly put off by him, as he tried to hug her. Mayor Undersee is clearly embarrassed, and he urges Effie to get going. She does, and she starts with the girls, which is the same as always.

I think the same cursory prayer that I do every year. I silently ask that my friends, Amica and Pallie, be spared. I throw in Delly Cartwright, too, as we aren't really good friends now but we used to be, and she's just too _good_ to be chosen. And, as always, I wish that Katniss will be fine.

I know I should worry more for the girls that I hang out with, that I actually talk to, but I am now and always have been more worried about Katniss during the reaping. It's because I _know_ she has tesserae, and I know her name must be in the girl's glass ball fifteen or twenty times. It's likely she doesn't even know my name, and yet I worry for her during the reaping. I tell myself the same thing as every year: she may have tesserae, but the odds that she'll be the one chosen are still slim compared to the thousand or so other girl's names.

Effie pulls out a slip and reads off, "Primrose Everdeen!"

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**A/N: Review and tell me how you think I did please **** I just finished the Hunger Games books and I couldn't stop myself from writing it in Peeta's point of view. **

**Pretty much every chapter is going to end where it ends in the book, except for the ones where Katniss isn't with Peeta at the end of a chapter. Then my creative license takes hold.**


	2. Chosen

Even though it goes against my Katniss Guideline – not to look at her too often of she'll get that edgy suspicious look about her – I can't help but look. The unhappy voices from the crowd arose, as they always do whenever twelve-year-olds get chosen, but Katniss seemed to hear none of it. Her face was devoid of color, and she stood frozen. I have the thought that one hard breath will make her tumble over, which is a rare thing to say about Katniss, as she always looks so tough. Even when she's by herself at school.

I look away from her and, along with everyone else, at her little sister, Prim, who's making her way to the stage. She's so tiny, I think, and there's a stirring inside me at this injustice. I don't really know Prim, not the way many others do, certainly not the way Katniss does, but I know she's the sweetest little girl. We wave to each other when she looks in the bakery windows at my cakes. She's extremely well loved in this town.

By the time Prim has reached the stage, Katniss lets out a strangled yell, "Prim!" Now all eyes, including mine, are on her again, and she cries out her sister's name in a clearer voice, running up to where her sister stands. I know where she's going with this before she says, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

Both Effie Trinket and Mayor Undersee are clearly confused right now, as District 12 hasn't had a volunteer in a very long time. Not in my lifetime, that's for sure. We all know the procedure, though, as there are volunteers in several districts every year. In the Career tribute's districts, 1, 2 and 4, there's somewhat of a complicated procedure that none of us really knows, because there are a lot of people there who want to be the tribute.

Considering District 12 has only ever had two winners in the past seventy-three years, saying you'll volunteer to be a tribute is the sane as saying you volunteer to be killed.

There's a terrible crushing in my stomach and somewhat of a roaring in my ears as I watch the scene of Prim grabbing at Katniss' dress, yelling her name, saying she can't go. Gale Hawthorne appears and pulls Prim back, leaving Katniss to walk up onstage.

I feel like I'm losing someone precious, someone vital to my life, even though she probably has no clue who I am. I've never even talked to Katniss, but I feel like I'm near tears because I'm almost certain she won't be coming home. She's a tough girl, a hunter, but she hasn't trained the way Career tributes have trained. I'm suddenly so angry at myself for never telling her how I feel, never letting her know that I've liked her since we were five. I've lost my chance and Katniss has practically signed a death warrant. This entire thing, these games, they just aren't fair.

It's not surprising when no one in the crowd claps for her braveness when Effie Trinket commends it. We never clap here. Because we know that this is wrong. It _is_ surprising when the crowd takes up a District 12 salute. It's a rarely used gesture on someone who's still living, and even though it's a surprise, I'm among the first to press my three fingers to my mouth and hold them out to her, my mind screaming that even though she has no idea, I've always been here for her.

I can feel my throat clogging up from the tears I want to shed but can't. My friends, my family, except for possibly my father, they all have no clue how I feel about Katniss. How could they, when I've kept it one of my most well-hidden secrets? The salute begins to ebb as Haymitch makes a typical Haymitch Abernathy scene: putting his arm around Katniss, then plummeting off the stage.

Now most people look at him, including the cameras, but I still look at her. She'd had a brave face on, when she took Prim's place, when the salute was given to her, when Haymitch did his thing. Now, when she thinks she's not being watched so closely, her composure completely falls. Her mouth opens and I think I hear a terrible sound from her, before she balls her hands together and puts them behind her back, and her mask is up once more.

My mind is still focused on Katniss when Effie declares that it's time to pick a male tribute. I shake myself out of my Katniss worry stupor long enough to wish that Lucern doesn't get chosen, hope none of my friends do, and, absurdly, tack Gale Hawthorne onto that prayer. I know they're friends – dating, whatever – and I know the thought that he's taking care of her family for her makes her feel better. I can see it in the way they make their eye contact, the way it relaxes her.

Effie picks a strip of paper. _Not Lucern_, I think, _not Gale, either_. Then she does something that takes me completely by surprise, and announces, "Peeta Mellark!"

It feels like ice is sliding through my veins, because that's me. Peeta Mellark is my name. Now everyone looks over at me, and I can read the sadness, the pity, the sympathy in my friends' eyes as they pat me on the shoulder as I begin to walk by them. I have to be moving on some sort of autopilot, because I can feel the stiffness in my joints and I feel unnatural walking up to the stage.

I pass the eighteen-year-old men's group, and I make eye contact with Lucern. He's sad, he even has a brim of tears in his eyes already. He doesn't volunteer to take my place, though. I don't expect him to, but I don't blame him: I don't think I would if the situation was reversed. Now I try to hold my head up as I start to mount the stairs. I feel like each step is a step closer to death, and by the time I reach my place next to Katniss, memories are swamping me and I'm no longer paying attention to what's going on in the ceremony.

I remember playing with Delly Cartwright. We're very young, maybe five or six. She's a little chubby, always has been, and is, as always, delightful. The game we're playing is very familiar, as we played it almost every single day. It's a game where she plays the mom and I play the dad. She has two little baby dolls who are our children that we, creatively, name after ourselves. I am, creatively, a baker, and she is a stay-at-home-mother. We run around, laugh, scream, and just _play_ until my mom makes me go home.

Then I remember my first day working in the bakery. I'm ten, which is the age my mother deems old enough to work with the ovens. She says a ten-year-old will be completely fine as long as they're not stupid. Regardless of her words, my father has never made it a secret that he'd prefer to wait until we are at least thirteen before we work daily in the bakery. He very rarely opposes her, but this is a subject they've argued about several times. She always wins in the end, by saying, "Thirteen? They're old enough to compete in the Hunger Games by then! They can go and fight to the death at age twelve, but they can't bake bread? You imbecile!"

There really is no arguing with the point she makes about the Hunger Games, because it's completely true. Nonetheless, I burn myself taking the bread out of the oven. Five times. Both of my brothers are jokesters, always have been, but even they don't joke about how hard it can be to jumpstart working in the bakery. Thyler is thirteen, Lucern is twelve, and by the time I was ten, we all were put to work. My mother sees the burns I have on my hands and forearms and shakes her head at me. It's my father who knew this was coming, and takes me aside before I go to bed and rubs on a salve that makes the pain of the burns disappear. He tells me that it'll get better.

And it does. After only a month or two, I've acclimated to the early hours, to the work, the burns. I acclimate to everything, except for one thing. My mother. Back in the days of playing with Delly Cartwright, my mom was all right. She arranged play dates and was strict about us making our beds, but she didn't start the corporal punishments until we messed up in the bakery. The first time she hits me, I cry, which makes my brothers call me a wimp. It hurts, all of it, but I move on.

Then I'm thrust into a memory I have of me at twelve. It's the morning of my first reaping, and both my brothers have tried to calm my nerves. They joke, taunt, comfort, and try to distract me from my fear that, against all odds, I'm chosen. Nothing works. The only good thing about this day, besides sleeping in, is the fact that reaping mornings are dedicated times for my mother to knit, so she's not here to see what a nervous wreck I am.

When my brothers have given up trying to cheer me, I go downstairs to the bakery and see my father taking out a freshly baked cake. He gestures for me to come over, takes out the frosting and all of the design tools, then says he's busy and asks me to decorate it for him. I've never been trusted with a task this great in the bakery before, but I accept it. After years of watching my father do this, I know how to work the frosting tools. I go about the work, putting a base layer on, then designing flowers to go on it.

At the end, I step back and am actually happy of what I just did. I hadn't really thought it would come out well, but it did. And it calmed my nerves, just like my father thought it would. I take off my apron and we all head to town square. It seems that all my worrying was for nothing, as I'm not chosen and neither are my brothers. We walk back to the bakery, tripping and pushing each other, laughing.

Then I come to an abrupt stop outside the bakery, because there it is. My cake. It's on display. My dad comes to a stop behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder. It's not the warmth from his hand that warms me inside, though. It's pride.

I start to come back to myself, in the present, here, standing on this stage. The stage that promises I will be soon going to my death in the Hunger Games. And I try to keep that feeling of pride with me. But it's too hard, and I'm too overwhelmed. Nerves wrack my body as I continue to listen to the mayor as he goes over the Treaty of Treason and why these games are necessary.

I try to take deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

It does help calm me down, but barely. I feel that I've just regained control of my nervous system when Mayor Undersee motions for Katniss and I to shake hands. I meet his eyes when he does this and I know there is compassion there. Compassion for me, and possibly Katniss; she does sit with his daughter at lunch. The mayor and my father are extremely similar beings. Smart, intuitive, quiet. They have a friendship that goes back years. So do Madge and I. Not a close one, but a friendship nonetheless. The mayor and I keep eye contact for one more moment and I wonder how he feels knowing that he's sending me off to die, when just last week I had dinner at his house with my family.

I turn back to face Katniss, and I feel like it's silly of me to note that this is the closest to her I've ever been. But I can't help having the thought. She still has that composure up, has on that mask. But I'm looking into her eyes and I can see her nerves. We take each other's hand – hers surprises me with its strength and the roughness of her skin. I want to ease those nerves I see away, but I don't know how, and I doubt she'd welcome any of my words. So I just give her hand a gentle squeeze.

The anthem starts playing and all of the sudden I'm struck with a thought. Something that hadn't even occurred to me yet. The Hunger Games means killing whoever is not you in that arena. Katniss Everdeen will be in that arena with me.

I am supposed to kill Katniss Everdeen.

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**If you liked it, hey even if you didn't, please review :) And thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last time!**


	3. Goodbye

I don't even kill the spiders that find their way into our house; I scoop them up and let them go outside. And even if I could kill a spider, I doubt I could kill a human being. And if, in that small chance I could willingly kill another human, I could never kill Katniss. The thought numbs me as the Peacekeepers come to take us into the Justice Building.

Kill Katniss. Kill. Katniss. The thought of taking any other life makes me nauseous. It's just not the kind of person I am. My entire life, I've been kind, because I can't stand to see others in pain. I've never really thought of it as anything near a weakness until now. Immediately after I have that thought, I question it.

Do I really want to think of kindness as a weakness? The thought trails off as I'm brought into an amazing room. I've been inside of most of the nicest houses in District 12, and yet none of them ever came close to the lushness of everything in here. I wish I had some paint and a canvas, which I've only painted on once or twice because they're so expensive, so I could capture the richness of this room forever.

Then, as if the reprisal from the terrible situation I'm in is taken away, the beauty of the room is lost on me and I'm shoved back into my thoughts. What am I going to do?

I'm backing up until my knees hit the arm of the couch. I fall into an awkward position, with my left shoulder and arm wedged between the cushion and the back, my legs flung over the side, and my right hand hitting the floor with a _thump_. Just after I've made this landing, the door opens and my family comes in.

Thyler and Lucern, though their faces when they first step into the room are grave, both burst into laughter when they see my blunder. My father's face is still somber, and my mother's is critical. I right myself as quickly as possible, and my mom is the first person to walk over to me. It's strange, as she does something she hasn't done since I was little. She brushes aside the hair that's fallen into my eyes, and gives me a kiss on the forehead. My brothers have both hushed, and even my dad looks a bit mystified.

I look up at her, surprised, and see for a moment the mother I remember from my childhood. Before the frequent beatings, before her bitterness of three sons and no daughters consumed her, before she was just so unhappy. She was never beautiful; I know this from photos and some videos of the past. But over the years it seemed the more unpleasant she got, her looks reflected the inner change. I see the mother I remember taking me to Delly Cartwright's for a play date, and she says, "Goodbye, Peeta." But before I can even open my mouth to respond in kind, her tone becomes considerably lighter and she says, "Maybe District 12 will finally have a winner. She's a survivor, that one."

Then she walks out. I think my mouth is hanging open. _She _is a survivor. My own mother is planning on me not coming back. I'm sure many people have the same thought or feeling when seeing a family member off to the Games. But surely they hold it in. Both my brothers are now looking at the door my mother just walked out of, mirroring my mouth agape look of shock. My father nudges Thyler, who tears his gaze away and walks over to me. "Don't listen to mom. You know she's just an ornery person in general. She's trying not to get her hopes up. Probably. I have faith you can win in that arena. Remember that time you were being teased in school? You came home with a black eye and I offered to beat the guy up for you, but the next day you beat the crap out of him and his little cronies. Remember that?"

I don't know if it's possible to have a more depressing family goodbye when I look at Thyler and tell him, "That was Lucern."

"Oh. Right. Well, you're smart. You just have to remember your strengths, and you'll be back kicking me and Lucern's asses in the bakery in no time." Thyler, who has never been one to show brotherly affection, awkwardly leans over and gives me a hug. I, however, am not as awkward, and I return his hug in kind.

"Thanks, Thyler." I can already feel the familiar well of tears in the back of my eyes, and I have to admit, it does surprise me when I see the same gleam of tears in my oldest brother's eyes. A hug. Tears. He is full of surprises tonight. He quickly swipes at his eyes with his hands, clears his throat, and gives me his typical slap on the shoulder before he makes his way out of the room.

Lucern is next, and he's always been more open with his feelings, rather than the stoic Thyler. He gives me a big hug, and I can hear the strain in his voice as he tries to hold in tears, "I never thought I'd get our room to myself this way. I'm sorry, Peeta." He draws back, looking me in the eyes, "After watching that girl take her sister's place –"

I interrupt him, "Katniss. Her name is Katniss."

He quirks a brow at me before continuing, "After watching _Katniss_ take her sister's place, I'm sorry I didn't do the same for you. I should have."

I shake my head at him, "Don't even worry about it. I don't hold it against you. It takes an insane amount of courage to do what she did. I don't think I could have done it, either."

Lucern nods, and holds his hand out for a handshake, "Good luck, my brother. Thyler's right; you're smart. And you're strong. You nearly kicked my ass in the wrestling competition last year." We nod at each other, and he makes the same exit as Thyler.

I'm left with my dad. I've never seen him cry before, ever. But now, as he's watched my brother and I say our goodbyes, I think it hits him that he'll probably never see me again. Seeing a single tear fall down his cheek makes some sort of a dam in me break. I haven't really cried since I was ten and I got that hit from my mom. Not these tears, these terrible sobs that I can't stop. I stand and my dad folds his arms around me, and I'm taken back to when I was a little boy.

Whenever something bad would happen, I didn't run to my mother to be soothed as so many others did. I ran straight to my dad. He didn't ever demand to know what happened – most of the time we never talked at all. But he would hug me and let me know everything would be all right. But this time, as much as I was comforted by the hug, I knew everything would not be all right. As the sobs wracked my body, I could feel him shaking from his own crying.

After a few minutes, we both draw back, and he keeps his hands on my shoulders. Warm hands, that always let me know he was proud of me. His voice is hoarse as he says, "Your brothers are both right, Peeta. You're smart, and you're strong. Those are two huge advantages right there."

I nod, and his words make me feel as good as I can right now. I wait another moment before I whisper, "I don't think I can kill anyone."

My dad blinks and holds his eyes shut longer than usual, then opens them again, "You do what you think is right, son. I'm not going to pressure you into anything. You're a good man."

The Peacekeeper is at the door, telling me our time is done, and I say words that are rarely uttered in our house, "I love you."

"I love you, too, son." He nods at me, and walks out. When the door shuts behind him, I'm certain my visitors are done. Sure, I have friends who I hang out with. None who would come to say a last goodbye to me.

But then I have another visitor. It's Thyler's wife, Hailey. She walks in, and I can tell she's been crying. I didn't expect her at all, frankly, as she's never really taken a liking to my family. Not even Lucern, who has most women fawning all over him. The first thing she says to me is even more unexpected, "Thank you for the wedding cake."

I manage to give her a small smile, one that doesn't mask my confusion, but she doesn't seem to care, "No problem."

She sniffles into a handkerchief, "I didn't even know you were the one who did it until just now, you know. I thought it was that baker I wanted from the Capitol."

I'm usually skilled with words, but right now I honestly have no clue where she's going with this. "Well, he had last minute problems, I guess. I just knew that it was two days before your wedding and you didn't have your cake."

She throws her arms around me and cries, "I'm so sorry that I was so awful to you and your family. You know? I always just thought you were only _bakers_ and your mother… but _you_ are so nice. It was because of you that I even went out with Thyler."

I wonder if it's her mission to make me the most baffled I've ever been in my life during this short visit. "I'm sorry Hailey, but I don't really follow what you're saying."

"Oh, you know." When I stare at her blankly, she sighs, "Your brother, he'd been asking me out since school. I'd always just written him off. My mom, she'd told me to have much higher ambitions than the baker's son. And Thyler never really did anything to sway what opinion I had of him. But the year after he left school, last year, I was a senior. It was raining and miserable out. _I _was miserable. I tripped and almost fell. I dropped all my books. You were walking behind me, and caught my elbow. You gave me your umbrella, then you picked up my books."

Now I remembered. Honestly, I hadn't given it any thought since it had happened. I would have done the same thing for anyone else. "Oh, that. I had no idea you even remembered that. Um, you're welcome."

She gives me an exasperated look, like _of course I remember that!_ "Yes." She mops up the mess she'd let her face become, then takes a deep breath. "I just wanted to let you know that I hadn't forgotten that. Thyler loves you so much, you know, and he depends on you as a friend, and a brother. Try to come back, will you?"

This is the longest conversation we've ever had. I nod, "Of course I'm going to try to come back."

She leaves quickly after that. The door is barely shut behind her before Gale Hawthorne opens it. He takes two steps into the room and is right in front of me. I'll admit that I've gotten pretty strong over the years of lifting things for the bakery, but Hawthorne still intimidates me. He's a good three inches taller than I am. Maybe not as broad shouldered, but it's not really the physical that makes me swallow nervously. It's the look in his eyes that tells me he's dangerous.

He gets straight to the point, "If you kill her, I'll kill you."

Wow. I know he's not kidding, and I nod, voicing the thoughts I've had since we were taken off stage, "I don't think I could even if I wanted to. Which I don't."

This seems to satisfy him, and he assesses me. Trying to decide whether or not I'm being honest, I think. I guess I pass the test when the corners of his lips flick up, in something I would say barely passes for a smile. He says nothing else, only turns and walks out.

Next is Madge Undersee. She's not as unexpected as Gale Hawthorne was, but it's still a surprise. She's not crying, she just walks in and walks right up to me, giving me a hug. We were never the best of friends, Madge and I. She always preferred to be more alone in a crowd then with a lot of people, like with my other friends. But due to our fathers' friendship, we've known each other forever and we've never not gotten along. She draws back, "Good luck, Peeta. You and Katniss… you're the closest things I have to friends."

"Thanks, Madge. Good luck handling those dinners with my family. At least now my mother may stop trying to get you and me to date." It's a lame attempt at a joke but it's all I can manage right now.

She gives me a smile, squeezes my hand and leaves. I think she was probably in seeing Katniss and would feel too bad not to come in and see me as well. I sit back down on the couch and it's not very long before the Peacekeepers some in to bring me from the Justice Building to the train station, which is even farther away from the heart of the town. I can't help but look back out the window, and think _I'll never see my home again_. This makes even more tears leak out of my eyes. I don't bother wiping at them.

As I arrive at the train station and see the reporters, I still don't bother trying to appear like I'm not sad. Just because I'm going into the Hunger Games, I'm not going to stop acting like myself. If I'm this upset, I'm going to cry. That's just the way it is.

I see Katniss as she gets out of her car and I wonder how she can look so uncaring about what's going to happen. It has to be an act, because I saw how scared she was up on that stage. Even keeping up this act shows how tough she is. It makes me admire her even more than I already do, which seems to make my predicament worse.

The cameras eat up our images until the train doors shut behind us, and we're each taken to our own quarters. The compartment I'm in is even more luxurious than the room I was in at the Justice Building. Effie Trinket tells me dinner will be ready in an hour, and that I should be ready. She wants me to meet her down in the dining room. When she leaves, I wander around. The bedroom is the size of the one I have at home, and the bathroom is as well. I strip down and hop into the shower.

When I come out, I pick up the clothes I wore here. The clothes I was reaped in. And I'm disgusted by them. I don't throw them in the clothes hamper – they go straight into the trash. Those third generation slacks, the new button down shirt. It's not like anyone in my family will ever need them again.

I get dressed in a pair of black pants and another button down shirt. My hair is almost dry, and I comb it, my mother's words about not being a ragamuffin echoing in my head. I'm sure Effie Trinket agrees with that sentiment. With a half hour left before dinner, I leave my chambers and bump into Haymitch, who's rooms are right across from mine. I can still smell the alcohol on him. He's probably drank a ton more since his header off the stage, and he is having trouble opening his door. I reach over and do it for him, and he slurs out something about taking a nap before his slams his door shut.

I think a nap is probably the best thing for him to be doing right now. Better than drinking more, that's for sure. Walking down the hall, I note how extravagant even the panels on the wall are. I pass Katniss's room, pausing at the door, before I continue on my way. It takes me fifteen more minutes before I find the dining room, and only Effie Trinket is in there, dictating where the servers should put our plates.

She sees me and smiles, "You're early. I like that very much in a tribute. Go on, take a seat, take a seat." I do, and so does she. "So, Peeta, are you excited for your very first trip to the Capitol?"

Not in the slightest. But I give her a smile, "A little overwhelmed, really."

She puts her hand on my arm, "It can be very overwhelming, I know. Not to worry though, dear. The fashion trends alone will just amaze you. District 12 does much less fashion-wise than any other district, you know."

I do know; we look normal. I take in Effie's pink hair and green suit, with her abnormally blinding white smile and thank goodness, for once, that I am from District 12. But I would never say that to her, "Yeah, I know. But, to be honest, fashion really isn't my area of expertise anyway."

She gives me a sad smile, "Well, what else would you expect?" She checks her watch, "Where is that girl? I told her to be ready in an hour, and it's been an hour already. Time is of the essence, you know! I'll just have to go fetch her."

Moments later, Effie and Katniss arrive. Katniss isn't wearing that nice blue dress anymore, but a dark green shirt. I wonder if green is her favorite color, as she wears it often. She takes the seat next to me, Effie is across from us, and there is an empty seat. Presumably for Haymitch. But I know he's passed out right now. I say as much to Effie, and she's visibly relieved we can have dinner without his drunk presence.

We eat dinner in courses. Rich, extravagant food. The likes of which I've never had, and Katniss has certainly never had before. We both wolf it down, so fast I'm feeling a bit sick. But after years and years of stale bread for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, there is no way I'm wasting any of this excellent food.

Effie makes an offhanded comment about how the tributes from last year had absolutely no table manners, and she congratulates ours. I make nothing of it, but it seems to really offend Katniss. This is probably because those kids were both from the Seam and she knew them personally. I realize Effie's comment struck a chord in her. Of course the kids from last year had no table manners: when had they ever had enough to eat in their lives? I've seen more than my fair share of Seam kids starve to death, and, disturbingly, I've seen Katniss starving. For the rest of the meal, Katniss makes a point of eating with her fingers and not using her napkin. Effie Trinket is clearly disgusted by this, but she doesn't comment. It makes me respect Katniss even more.

After all of the food is done, no more courses being brought out, I'm so full I'm certain I'll be throwing up soon. I swallow a few times, suck in air, and as Effie leads us into a different room to watch the other reapings, I manage to confidently say that I will be able to keep the food down. We sit down and watch the recaps of the other tributes. None of them really makes an impression on me, except for the little girl from District 11. I think that if Katniss had been in that district, she'd have volunteered for this little girl. But no one takes her place. It makes me so sad to think about it, that I feel sick to my stomach again.

Then they recap District 12, and for a moment I relive this feeling: the punch in the gut that I would never see Katniss again, then the double whammy as I myself am called. On screen, Katniss looks desperate and I look scared. Haymitch then falls offstage and Effie comments about how he has no idea how to present himself or what proper televised behavior is. This makes me laugh, because I don't think Haymitch has even given any thought to his presentation. The only thing he cares about is his alcohol. I tell her as much.

Unexpectedly, Katniss adds in that he is drunk every day, and smirks. Effie gets that snobby Capitol tone and reminds us that Haymitch is our lifeline in the Games, and for a moment that really sinks in to me, and I stop smiling. But before I can give it too much thought, Haymitch is in the doorway, slurs out words that I don't quite catch, then pukes and proceeds to fall in his own vomit.

Effie takes on her uppity tone, and says, "So laugh away!" Before escaping the room and leaving us to deal with the mess.

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**Please review and tell me what you think! Thanks for reading, and thanks to all who reviewed last time. **


	4. A New World

I've never seen anything more disgusting than Haymitch Abernathy lying in a pile of his own vomit. I'm not certain what it is exactly that he's puked up, but it's not normal. He's trying to push himself up out of it, but there is no avail. It seems like the smelly mess is drawing him back down whenever he tries to lift himself away.

Katniss and I make eye contact and it's the biggest connection I've ever had with her. Without saying it aloud, we both walk over to Haymitch and pull him up to make him stand. The putrid fumes of the vomit on the floor have sunken into Haymitch's clothes, lodge into my nose and make me, for the third time of the night, feel as though I'm going to be sick. This feeling intensifies when Haymitch wipes his hand on his face, smearing the vomit there. This man is supposed to be my _mentor_?

Katniss and I work together to get him into his chambers, and we bring him straight to the bathroom, dumping him into the shower. Haymitch acts exactly the same as he did before we threw him in there, and I doubt he even knows what's going on.

I look at Katniss and she looks extremely uncomfortable, but I'm thinking her pride won't let her leave. "It's okay." I reassure her, "I can take it from here."

Though she looks extremely relived to be taken off Haymitch shower duty, she hesitates before she goes, and offers to send in someone who works for the Capitol to help me. I can't help the automatic reaction I have to even hearing about the people who work for the Capitol: anger. "No. I don't want them." I tell her, and I wait until she's closed the door to Haymitch's chambers before I get to work stripping him.

It's awkward work, especially because Haymitch really isn't helping me at all. I've never undressed another man before, and I really don't wish to repeat the experience. I leave his boxer shorts on, though, because I really don't want to see under them. It really would be simpler to for me to have called in the Capitol workers to deal with Haymitch. But at the same time, I don't want him to have to deal with them, either. Haymitch may be a drunk, sometimes a disgustingly dirty and smelly one, but he's District 12. And we need to stick together here.

The shower takes a lot longer than it would if Haymitch actually knew what was going on. By the time I have the vomit washed off of his body, my own shirt is soaked through and I'm agitated at his inability to help me help him. By the time I get Haymitch into a robe hanging up on his bathroom door, the train has already stopped to get fuel and is completely reloaded, starting to go again.

I lead him over to his bed as he manages to walk there on his own. As soon as he is lying down, not even under the covers, he's passed out. I sigh and look down at myself. This shirt is completely ruined. I can tell by the way the material is drying that it wasn't supposed to be wet like that. Two shirts done in one day is a record for me. I can only imagine what my mother would say about the waste.

The shirt is stripped off and I'm in my own pair of pajamas within moments of being back in my own compartment. I feel like I should be tired, but I'm not. So I bring a seat over to the window and watch at the dark landscapes blur as we pass by. The longer I sit here, the blurrier my vision gets, and I don't even realize I'm crying again until I reach my hand up to rub at my eye and it comes away wet with tears.

I go into the bathroom and splash my face with water, blow my nose, and make myself lie down in bed. It doesn't help, though, and I just keep crying. This… everything is just so wrong. The most interaction I've ever had with the girl of my dreams has been on a train where we are being brought to a game where we will, most certainly, die. That thought makes my tears come on even heavier. I think about how I'll never see my family again. My dad. My brothers. My mom. I know I'm not coming back because I already know I can't kill people. That little girl from 11 pops into my head and adds onto my distress.

I'm a lover, not a fighter. I always have been. And I don't want these games to change that about me. My father told me that I was a good man. I don't mean to say that the people who kill others in the Games aren't good people, because they're doing what they have to do to survive. But no one has ever looked at me and thought 'he's a survivor.' They look at me and think 'he's a good guy.' And I don't want that to change.

The image of Katniss' little sister Prim appears in my head, and I can clearly recall the desperation on her face as she clutches at her sister, begging her not to go. Prim _needs_ Katniss. So does her mother. She's essential to their survival. Right before I drift to sleep, it occurs to me what I can do in these games to stay true to myself. I can protect Katniss and send her back to her family. I can be a good person in the arena, a man with a purpose.

I wake the next morning at eight, for the second day in a row. It's a strange feeling, sleeping in for two days straight. For a moment I don't remember why my parents allowed me to sleep in late again, but then the memories of yesterday come flooding back. I get up, and the first things I do are change into clean clothes for the day and make my bed. I throw my pajamas in the hamper. I know we have people on this train who are supposed to come in and pick up after us, but I can't shake what my mother has drilled into me through sixteen years.

As soon as I'm ready, I go down to the dining room and am surprised to see Haymitch already awake and at the table. I'm not surprised to see that he's mixing some morning drink with his white liquor. He gives me a big wave, "Here's one!"

He urges me to sit and I do. There is more food on this table than I've ever seen at a breakfast table. My stomach growls despite the amount of food I ate last night and Haymitch tells me to dig in. I start by looking at the drinks. I recognize the water and the orange juice, which we have semi-regularly in my house. I know that one of the brown liquids is coffee by its distinct scent. My mother hates waste, and yet she's willing to spend an absurd amount of money on coffee every week. Then I see another cup of hot brown liquid. I sniff it; doesn't smell like coffee. Haymitch tells me it's called hot chocolate. I sniff it once more, and then take a sip.

And I've fallen in love. I chug the whole cup in minutes, and it settles nicely in my stomach. Then I go about making my breakfast plate. I load up on pretty much everything – except the rolls – as I try to think of when it would be a good time to tell Haymitch of the plan I've come up with last night. My plan of protecting Katniss. No matter when I tell him, I can't imagine him taking me seriously.

Effie Trinket waltzes in the room, "Peeta, good, you're up. You always seem to be right on time. Katniss, however, must be directed. I wonder where that girl's head is. Punctuality _matters_."

She makes herself a cup of coffee and Haymitch gives her a devious smile, offering her his bottle of liquor, "You want some? I think you could deal with some loosening up."

She flushes and her mouth falls open, "Haymitch Abernathy, I'm absolutely sick of this behavior. Next thing I know you're going to be offering those spirits to Peeta!"

Haymitch turns toward me with a critical look, "Offer it to him? He isn't even old enough to grow hair on his chin yet! But you, Effie, have been able to do that for quite some time now."

I can so grow facial hair. It's just very light when I do, a very pale blond. But I feel that if I say this it'll just make Haymitch laugh even harder than he is. Effie huffs at him and makes her way out of the room, uttering swears. I end up taking a roll – it makes me think of home – and slink down in my chair, as Haymitch still laughs at his own joke.

Katniss walks in and raises a brow at the situation going on in here as Haymitch urges her to come in. I obviously can't tell him about my Katniss plan this morning, then. She sits next to me, wearing the same outfit as last night. She, too, has never come into contact with hot chocolate, and I tell her what it is. She has the same reaction as I did – drink it before touching any other food.

While she starts to eat, not paying attention to me, I watch her. I notice she's wearing a pin on her clothes, something I didn't notice last night. It's a mockingjay. I wonder where she got it. It's a nice pin, and I really like the fact that she's wearing it because it reminds me of her. Of that day I heard her sing in music class all those years ago. The day the mockingjays all stopped to listen.

I look away from Katniss and we both watch as Haymitch continues to down alcohol for breakfast. The expression on Katniss' face is one of hatred, and I can see where she's coming from. As Effie told us last night, we're supposed to depend on Haymitch to keep us alive during the games. But how in the world can we trust him with our lives if we can't even trust him to clean himself up after he falls in his own vomit?

Katniss reminds him that he's supposed to give us advice. Advice on how to stay alive during the Games. Haymitch responds with, "Here's some advice. Stay alive."

I've never felt such anger at one person, not the way I'm feeling about Haymitch right now. Stay alive? What words of wisdom. And now he's laughing about it. I don't think I hate him, as I could tell Katniss did only moments ago. But I certainly don't like him. Katniss and I make eye contact before I lose control of my anger and say, "That's very funny." I knock his glass out of his hand and it shatters on the floor. "Only not to us."

Even with all those years of living with my mother, the blow Haymitch delivers to my jaw surprises me, and it's a lot harder than what my mother's hands deliver. I'm knocked onto the floor with the impact. I see Katniss moving but I don't know what she does until I stand and I see the knife she drove between Haymitch's fingers into the table with such precision. Although I'm not glad we united as a front in these circumstances – against our mentor – I am glad we've united over something.

I start to ice my jaw, but Haymitch stops me and tells me it'll make me look tough. I suppose that can't hurt, so I listen to him. He asks if Katniss can hit anything besides a table with her knife. I know she can, but she proves it wordlessly as she throws the knife and lodges it between two panels. I knew she was a good hunter, but I never knew she was that good. Haymitch and I are both impressed.

I find my anger at Haymitch lessening as he circles around us, inspecting us as I'm sure the other mentors do to their tributes. He tells us we'll be more presentable when the stylists are done with us. Personally, I think Katniss is pretty attractive right now, and I've been told I'm handsome as well. And I'm a little nervous as to the fashions I'm going to be dressed up in in the Capitol.

He promises to stay sober enough to help us in the games, and I assume that's as good as we're going to get, so I say, "Fine."

He gives us a bit more advice, like to not resist what the stylists want to do to us. Katniss tries to object fleetingly, but Haymitch won't have it. As far as mentor-advice goes, it's probably very bad. But I accept it, and it even makes me like him a bit more because I can tell he's at least trying to give us a chance.

Haymitch leaves, and as soon as he's out of the room, the train is submerged in darkness. We're standing very close to each other, Katniss and I. So close that I can feel her tense up as we continue through the mountain tunnel. I wonder why for a second, she can't be afraid of the dark, can she? Then I make the connection. The tunnel runs deep into the mountain, like the coal mines. Like the coal mine where her father died, and so many other people she must know have died.

I briefly wonder if she would welcome my holding her hand before we the room is flooded with light and she relaxes. We both run to the window to look out on the Capitol. It is simply magnificent. Once again, I wish I could have some paint. But even if I did, I doubt I could recreate these colors, this shine that is all over the buildings and the cars.

People start to gather. I've never seen so many people with unnaturally colored hair and skin, strange tattoos, and this kind of fashion sense. Not even Effie Trinket could have prepared me for all of the people who are looking at me through the window. Katniss steps away and I want to ask her what she is doing. These people could be key in her survival. With that thought in mind, I wave and I smile, and their attention really flatters me. I know it shouldn't, as they do this to every tribute train, I'm sure. But maybe, if I play my cards right, I can start as soon as now to getting people on my side.

Finally, we pull into the train station and I step away from the window. I shrug at her and explain my reasons for accommodating the crowd. She gets a suspicious look on her face and I don't know exactly what I've said or done to make her distrust me. Regardless, she does and I can clearly see it.

Then the train doors open and I'm thrust into a whole new world.

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**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	5. Along For the Ride

**I really enjoyed writing this chapter, because I've always wondered what Portia would be like. Enjoy! :)**

My prep team is composed of two people, a man and a woman. I stand before them, completely naked. I've never been one to shy away from nudity – it's not like everyone doesn't know what body parts look like. But I find myself wishing I had something to cover up with, as they stare at me. The man, Leontius, has his hand over his chin as he looks me up and down. The woman, Ravilla, circles around.

In that Capitol way of theirs, Ravilla tells me, "You have such good tone. Muscle tone can make or break an outfit, you know."

I know she doesn't expect a response, but I nod anyway because of the way her tone went up at the end of the sentence, making it sound like a question. "Thank you."

I don't know what else they could possibly do to me right now. I've been scrubbed down, my skin cleansed so deeply that I think they took off at least a layer or two of skin, as I look all pink and new. That wasn't the worst part, though. The worst was when they did my nails. I've never, ever had any nail grooming, other than clipping them occasionally. And I found it remarkably unpleasant. I followed Haymitch's advice, though, and kept my mouth shut about it. I don't think I would have said anything about my discomfort or pain from that body scrub anyway; these two are so excited about working on me, I think it would crush them if I complained. Surely, my small amount of uneasiness is worth it to let these two get so much excitement.

Ravilla starts fiddling with my hair, "I'm not actually going to be your hair stylist, of course, that's Portia's job. But maybe if I just played with it in a few parts, here and there…"

Leontius stands up in front of me, holding some sort of mechanism that is making a quiet humming noise. "Here's your final step of preparation. You may feel a little pinch…"

He brings the thing to my face, and touches it to the left side of my jaw, then my chin, then the ride side of my jaw. A little pinch, indeed. It isn't too bad, though. And at least this time I got a warning. When he shuts it off and places it on the table, I touch my hand to my face in the places he'd put that machine. "What was that?"

"It makes it so that you won't be able to grow any facial hair. That way you won't get all scrubby during the games!" Leontius answers joyfully. His skin is dyed a baby blue, and he wears the heavy make-up typical of men here, but if he wore that back in District 12, regardless of if he was in the merchant class or the Seam, he'd be mercilessly made fun of.

My chin is softer than it was ever before, and I rub my hand over it. "Well, at least I don't have to worry about shaving anymore!"

Both members of my prep team laugh, and Ravilla tells me, "We're glad to hear you say that! You would be surprised at the amount of men who come in here and are upset when we eliminate their facial hair! They just don't seem to understand that we've just done them a favor."

I don't say anything about how some people would actually want to have a say in being able to grow out their facial hair sometime in the future, because they just don't see it like that. But in my case, I really don't care. When my brothers and I all first realized we could grow facial hair, our mother drilled it into our heads to shave it so we didn't look like "Seam trash." My mother categorizes anything that she doesn't agree with as "Seam trash." Regardless, I prefer myself to be clean-shaven anyway.

Ravilla stops fiddling with my hair and comes to stand in front of me with Leontius. They both proclaim that I'm gorgeous. They thank me for being easy to work with, and it makes me wonder how badly they get treated by some other tributes that come through here. Ravilla removes all of the supplies they'd stored on the table behind me, "Go on and sit up there. We'll tell Portia that you're ready for her."

I sit up on said table and wait. I've only been in the Remake Center for an hour and a half, but I know all of the female tributes were called in to come here over an hour before the males. I wonder what they have to get done to them. Only minutes later, the door bursts open and a woman, who must be my stylist, Portia, bustles in.

She's radiant. Literally, radiant. Though her skin isn't as strange as most here in the Capitol, it glows. It's surprisingly not ugly. It makes her seem extremely beautiful. Her teeth are white, but not as much as Effie's. Her hair is what surprises me the most, however, as it's not an unnatural color. It's a shiny thick brown, which also, somehow, also emanates a glow. I must be gaping at her, because she laughs, "Hello, Peeta. I'm Portia. I'll be your stylist for the Games and, hopefully on the Victory Tour!"

Her voice is bubbly and I suspect her obvious excitement makes it louder, but she doesn't speak with the same vowels and hissing _s_'s as most in the Capitol. I smile back at her and say, "It's nice to meet you. Are you new?"

She gives her tinkling laugh, "Yes. I came here with Cinna, Katniss' stylist. We've been two peas in a pod, ever since we were little. He desperately wanted to be District 12's stylist, and I agreed. Not many people were up for the job." She winces when she realizes how that sounds, "I'm terribly sorry for phrasing it like that. I always put my foot in my mouth."

I wave it off; it's completely understandable. People from District 12 are never depicted in particularly good outfits. Since we're known for coal mining, the males mostly end up with awkwardly placed hard hats with lights on them and very little else. In the time I've spent here today, I've prepared myself for the worst. I mean, it really can't be any worse than last year, where both tributes were both stark naked.

Can it?

Portia clears her throat, "Cinna and I always groan when we see the District 12 tribute's outfits. Every year, they're despicable."

I nod, but then add on, "But there's really not much you can do with coal mining."

"No," she agrees, "There isn't. Which is why we've decided to focus more on the aspect of burning coal rather than mining it."

Now I'm intrigued, "Really? How?"

So she explains my outfit to me. She measures me, which is futile as she already had my outfit made. But she says she wants to make sure it'll fit exactly right. It's while she's doing this that I remember I'm completely naked right now. She'd put me at ease before, so I hadn't remembered. Now I blush.

She laughs, "Oh, you're absolutely adorable. I've never been the stylist of a blusher before!" Her utter exuberance makes me crack a genuine, albeit still embarrassed, smile.

Portia hands me a thin robe and tells me to sit down, be comfortable. She calls in some food and after it arrives I pick at it while she moves around me, "I quite love your hair. Normally the District 12 boy tributes have dark hair. I was expecting that."

I shrug, "Most of the tributes from District 12 have been kids from the Seam. They generally have a similar look, gray eyes and dark hair."

Her fingers are running through mine now, and she mutters to herself before saying, "The Seam? That doesn't seem like a very good place."

I shake my head, "No, I don't mean… well, the Seam isn't that great of a place, but the people there are nice."

"Hmm… Katniss, then, she's from the Seam? And what does _your_ family do?" Now she's running a comb through my hair, and her voice has quieted down. Her fingers are very precise in their movements and I can tell this is her element.

"Yeah, Katniss is from the Seam. My family owns the bakery. I work there, and so do my brothers."

Now that she's done with the combing, she has some sort of hair product and she's rubbing it on her fingers before moving it through my hair, "The bakery? My family runs a, well, not a bakery, but they make sweets like cookies and cake here in the Capitol."

Leave it to the Capitol to have a different store for bread than for cakes. Regardless, that does catch my interest, "Frosting the cakes is my job back home. I have a small sketch book for the designs I come up with."

She smiles at me, "That is wonderful. My mother, she raised my sister and I to work in the shop with her. My sister does, but my love for fashion won out." She runs her fingers through my hair, swaying it this way and that until she's satisfied. Then she takes a step back and tells me it's time to change into my outfit.

So I stand now in my outfit with the black unitard, leather boots, and my cape made of the fire colored streams as Portia stands in front of me, her hands clasped together. "Just one more thing." She mutters, before placing a headpiece on me that matches the cape. "Oh, your hair just compliments this perfectly." She steps back and observes once again, and she sighs. "I do have to apologize. It was Cinna's idea to make Katniss the girl on fire. Unforgettable. Now you're just taken along on the ride."

Though I can't say I'm a huge fan of the unitard, this outfit could be a lot worse, "Don't worry about it. I look great," I say and we laugh.

"You certainly do," she tells me, then gets this glazed look in her eyes, "But wait until you hear about the finishing touch. Cinna and I developed these flames, to light you and Katniss' capes on fire."

My stomach drops, "Fire?" Ever since I started working in the bakery, I've been terrified of fire. I can't help it. The several small burn scars I have only reinforce that fear.

Apparently my anxiety is evident and Portia shakes her head, "Oh, not real fire, Peeta. The flames we've made are completely synthetic. You'll be in no danger."

That really does nothing to allay my nerves, but I nod anyway, "I trust you."

We walk to the front of the Remake Center where Katniss and her stylist, Cinna, are already waiting. When I first catch sight of her, I stumble in my steps. I, as someone who has had a crush on her for over a decade, have always fond Katniss pretty. But now… my breath catches when I see her.

"Peeta?" Portia asks gently.

When I look at her, I shake my head and smile sheepishly, "Sorry. It's just… she's…" I, the boy who normally always has the right thing to say, am speechless.

Portia is giving me a measuring look, and does one of her "hmm" noises before she turns back into her bubbly self, "Well, let's keep going."

When we meet up with them it's all I can do not to stare. If I thought following my minute-long-ogling time before had been hard, now it was practically impossible. Very quickly, we get deposited into our chariot and positioned perfectly by Portia and Cinna. When they move along, Katniss asks me, "What do you think? About the fire?"

The reminder brings back my imminent fear and I grit my teeth when I respond, "I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine."

She tells me we have a deal and for a moment we're both silent, and probably thinking the same thing. I know I'm wondering about how bad my burns will be if we get my cape off in time. Wondering how I'll survive long enough to do one good deed for Katniss in the arena if I'm badly burned.

I wish I had someone official to question this cape on fire decision, and then it occurs to me that Haymitch isn't here. "Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

Katniss cracks a joke about Haymitch not being around flames because of all of that alcohol he's consumed, which doesn't really alleviate my fear of flames, but it's funny, so we both laugh. But, due to nerves, we laugh longer than the joke merits. It's not too long after that we arrive in City Circle. The music is playing and we can see District 1 being shown to the Capitol, who goes wild for them, like every year. The rest of the districts soon follow, and before I'm ready, Katniss' stylist, Cinna, is back up on our chariot.

He lights our capes and headpieces on fire and my eyes are wide open, prepared at any moment to put Katniss' flames out, but the fire isn't painful. I've just about relaxed when I hear Cinna breathe out, "It works."

It works? He and Portia hadn't known that it would work? I try to push it out of my mind. It doesn't matter, because it really _does_ work. Cinna is gone but then he's shouting something to us. He's closer to me than he is to Katniss, and I think I hear him shout, "Hold hands!" The gesture he makes afterwards confirms it.

I tell this to Katniss and don't wait for her permission before I take hers in mine. I think her prep team must have done something because her skin is no longer rough like it was that night that we shook hands at the reaping. Was that really only a day ago? It seems so much farther away.

Our hands tighten on each other's as they announce our district. And we are catapulted into a world I'd never had expected. The crowd is going crazy for us. District 12 has never had this much applause, never had these screams. It's the flames, I think, dazed, as I wave and smile at the crowd. I'd getting my fair share of cheers, but the name being chanted louder than any other of the night is _"Katniss! Katniss! Katniss!_"

Her hand is like a vice grip on mine, painfully so, but I like it. It makes me feel steadier. I remember Portia's words from earlier: _"It was Cinna's idea to make Katniss the girl on fire. Unforgettable. Now you're just taken along on the ride."_ He looked over just as Katniss caught a rose and blew some kisses. She certainly is unforgettable. The crowd was completely taken with her, and I'm definitely just going along for the ride. I look down at owr interlocked hands, hers holding tight onto mine. I can't say I mind.

We come to a stop in City Circle and listen to the president's speech. But I'm not paying attention to him, I'm mostly transfixed on how Katniss' warm, soft hand is still glued to mine. I feel like my entire world is centered here, on my hand, where it meets hers. All too soon, everything ends and we're drawn into the Training Center. Our flaming capes and headpieces are removed, then extinguished.

I haven't forgotten, not once in all this madness, that we're holding hands. It's something I've wanted to do with her for years. That, among many other things. But it appears she's forgotten as she looks down at them, then peels hers away. As we both massage our hands, I tell her, "Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there."

She tells me no one noticed, and for the first time since I've known her, I think she's saying something just to be nice. I tell her something that's been on my mind since I first saw her tonight, "I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often. They suit you." I feel a thrill race through me, made up of relief and adrenaline.

I see a slight flush on her face, and the fact that I put it there with my compliment urges me to smile at her. We're _finally_ having a genuine bonding moment. Or so I think, until she breaks our eye contact and looks down at the ground for a moment. When she looks back up at me, she kisses me on the cheek, and for once, I feel like my life just makes sense.

* * *

**Reviews are incredibly appreciated!**

**Also, when anyone else was reading about Katniss being 'groomed' did you get a bit grossed out when she talked about her leg hair? I mean, there was one scene (I think in Catching Fire, maybe) where she talked about her soft and downy leg hair... ugh. **

**So my question for you all is do you think it's only District 12 (and the other poorer districts like 11) that don't shave, or do you think it's considered to be one of those weird Capitol fashion trends?  
**


	6. The Right Atmosphere

We arrive at the Training Center, where we'll be staying until we go to the arena and compete. We're on the highest floor in the tower, being District 12 it makes sense. Effie escorts Katniss to her rooms, and Cinna, in place of Haymitch, most likely, brings me to mine. Well, I thought he was, until he stops outside of a door.

He asks, "Would you like to see the roof with me?"

I say yes, not particularly because I'm desperate to see the roof of the Training Center, but for two other reasons, both involving my family. For one thing, Cinna's lighthearted nature reminds me strongly of Lucern, and secondly, I desperately hate being alone in the big rooms they give us. Imagine that, only days ago I sought out alone time in my house, but now that I have it in abundance here, I detest it.

He leads me to a staircase, then into a dome shaped room, then out. As soon as the door shuts behind me, I had trouble catching my breath. Without even asking if it's all right, I walk to the edge and look out. It is so incredibly beautiful up here. When I wish, again, for paint supplies, I wonder if they would give it to me if I asked. But I don't want it getting out that I'm making strange demands.

Cinna must understand how I feel about this view, as he steps up beside me, "Fabulous, isn't it?"

I respond, "Yes, it's basically magical." But the wind is so loud, I have to repeat it louder for him to be able to hear me. Then I have a niggling thought. If this place is housing contestants for the Hunger Games, twenty-three of whom are going to be marching off to face their death in a matter of days, and they willingly let them up on the roof? Some tributes, several a year typically, consider being chosen as good as going to be slaughtered. Wouldn't the Capitol know that some of those tributes would gladly end it all before they went into the Games? And a fall this large, I think as I look over the edge once more, is sure to kill anyone.

I voice my thoughts out loud, "Anyone here can just walk right up here, whenever they feel like it?" Cinna nods, and I asked, "Isn't the Capitol worried that some tributes might just jump right over the side?"

Cinna shakes his head at me, "Not possible," he says. He urges me to step back, and we both do. Then he takes a coin out of his pocket and throws it at the edge of the roof. It zaps loudly, then falls back onto the roof, smoking. "There's a force field."

I walk toward it, and stand on the edge, as close as I dare, looking. It simply appears that there is nothing. There is no hint given that should you try to jump, you'll be zapped back. We stand there for a bit longer before Cinna says, "We should get going. Dinner is soon."

He leads me back toward my room, and at my door, I thank him for showing me around. He looks like he's uncertain as to whether or not he'd like to say something before he says, "Just in case you ever need to have a conversation where… the atmosphere is right."

I lower my brows in confusion, but let it go. Once in my room, I'm amazed, again, at the lushness of everything in the rooms. There are gadgets galore, but I'm not really tempted to touch them. I don't want to touch anything unless I know exactly what it's going to do. I go into the bathroom and take a shower. I let my hair dry manually, rather than let some machine to it for me.

When I go over to the closet, it tells me that there is an option for me to enter my preferences and it'll pick out an outfit to my tastes, but my tastes run simple, and I just go with my usual pants and button down shirt. With an afterthought, I put on a nice looking dress jacket. After I comb my hair, I leave my room and go down to the dining room.

Portia sees me enter and her face breaks out in a big grin. "Peeta! You and Katniss did amazingly, the couple on fire."

"Thanks. It was mostly Katniss, though. And the idea, the costumes, they were all you guys." They both assure me that it was both myself and Katniss who did an amazing job, and lead me out to a balcony that overlooks the Capitol.

Portia and I talk for a bit. She seems to sense that I'm incredibly homesick – I'm probably not hiding it well at all – as she gears the conversation toward things like baking cookies and decorating cakes. I know she's only doing it for my benefit, as she told me herself she didn't have a large love for baking. But regardless of what her reasons for the topic of discussion were, it does make me feel better.

We all turn when the dining room doors open, and we go to sit at the table as Effie and Katniss enter. Katniss doesn't say anything to me, I don't know why I expect her to, really. Haymitch walks in, and I know I'm not the only one surprised by him. He's not stumbling, he doesn't reek of alcohol, and he actually looks all right. Maybe his closet designed his outfit. He even eats real food, not just liquor. I hope he manages to stay like this for the duration of the games. Hell, I hope he manages to stay like this long enough for me to tell him of my plan to keep Katniss safe.

Effie, Haymitch, Portia, and Cinna keep the discussion going, and I occasionally throw in some words, but they really don't want to hear what I have to say right now. This is clearly a discussion for the four of them. Katniss isn't speaking, but I'm not certain if that's because she has nothing to say or because she looks like she's getting a little light headed from the rich wine she was drinking.

A girl comes in after the main courses are all gone, and sets a gorgeous cake on the table. Then she sets it into flames. I'm amazed. I want to know how to replicate it, and I am about to ask when I remember: it's pointless to learn how to make something so thrilling when I know I'll never have the opportunity to go home and show off my skill to anyone who cares.

Suddenly Katniss speaks up, looking at the redheaded woman serving the dessert, "I know you!"

Her exclamation makes all of the adults stare at her intensely. I personally found Katniss' declaration sudden, but not strange. How are any of us to know who Katniss knows and who she doesn't? Then Effie quickly tells Katniss that the server is an Avox, and the idea that Katniss knows an Avox is ridiculous.

An Avox. It means the woman was a traitor who committed a crime against the Capitol sometime in the past. I only know what they are because my mother uses the threat of making my brothers and me Avoxes when we screw up at the bakery. As Haymitch explains what an Avox is to Katniss, and all the adults still watch her intently, I can tell this isn't good. As far as Effie, Cinna, and Portia are concerned, you do not associate with an Avox. That in and of itself is a crime.

Katniss realizes she made a mistake, and tries to backtrack. She's doing a terrible job of it, too. I don't want anything bad to happen to her, so I thank my lucky stars that I grew up with my mother and am adept at making up lies on the spot as I snap my fingers, "Delly Cartwright. That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she was a dead ringer for Delly."

Of course, this woman looks nothing like Delly whatsoever. But hers was the first name that came to my head. I'm relieved when Katniss goes along with me and agrees, saying this woman and Delly have the same hair. Just for good measure, I add on, "Something about the eyes, too." This seems to convince the adults and they go back to their conversation.

After dessert Haymitch tells us to meet him downstairs for training, then dismisses us. Katniss and I walk down the hall to where our rooms are, but I want an explanation for the scene with the Avox woman. It's clear Katniss doesn't want to give me one, so I lean against the door frame before she can go into her room so she can't just ignore me, and I make a comment that makes it clear I'm fishing for some details.

I am curious about this Avox girl, but mostly I just want to spend more time with Katniss. I have a feeling she'd like to cut me out of this picture, but I'm certain it's because she just doesn't feel comfortable around me. For a moment, Katniss looks as though she's actually going to tell me the story behind the Avox, but she hesitates and looks up and down the hall.

I realize that she's worried the Capitol will be listening in as well, so I ask if she'd like to go up on the roof. Cinna's words echo in my head: just in case I need to have a conversation with the right atmosphere. How could he have known something like this would come up? Regardless, it was useful, and I lead Katniss up the same way Cinna led me. It pleases me that Katniss has the same reaction that I did when I first saw the breath taking view.

When we walk over to the edge I tell her about how I asked Cinna why they let us up here when we might jump. She asks for the answer, and I realize I don't have any change in my pockets as Cinna did. I hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not I should reach out and touch the force field. I decide the voltage can't be too high, as they expect that a tribute who jumps off the roof will live through the zap. I reach out and touch it with my hand, then jerk back at the pain.

Then I lead her over to the garden. I look at her, and my breath catches just as it did when I first came up here. A few pieces of her hair have escaped her braid and wisp around her face, and when she looks back at me, I'm just struck by how attractive she is. Here in this garden, everything is just so enchanted. I'm curious as to what she would do if I took the moment to lean over and kiss her. I guess she interprets my look of attraction as a sign to start telling me the story of the Avox.

She and Gale were hunting when they saw the boy and girl running through the woods. The boy was speared upon sight while the girl was captured. Just hearing the story of how she saw someone brutally murdered right in front of her makes me want to give her comfort. I'm big on hugging, but something tells me Katniss isn't. I wonder if the Avox saw her, and when I ask she looks uncertain and says that she doesn't know. But she really is a terrible liar.

When I notice her start to shiver, I'm not sure if it's from the wind chill or a chilling memory of the story. Perhaps it's from both. I'm not going to push it. All I say is, "You're shivering."

It's an automatic response for me to offer my jacket, but as I start to give it to her, she starts to step away from me. In the end she accepts the jacket, but now I know for sure how she'd react if I tried to kiss her. If she doesn't even want to accept a jacket, she doesn't want to accept my feelings. I swallow my disappointment and secure the top button of the jacket so it doesn't fall off. She is quite small, even though she doesn't seem like it.

I can tell she's done with her story and she's the type of person who would just leave the conversation at that. But I like hearing her voice, so I just ask a few general questions to hear more. She finishes one of her answers by looking around at all of the glamor of the city around us, saying, "Or why they would want to leave here."

I, too, look around, but I'm just overcome by my homesickness. I miss sitting around with Lucern playing cards. I miss Thyler slapping me encouragingly on the shoulder. I really miss working in the bakery with my dad. I even miss my mother's shrill yells about how we're all pigs. Before I can control myself I say, "I'd leave here."

Uh oh. That was loud. I look around and I can feel my nerves tingling. Quickly, I make a joke about the food and give a laugh. Even I can hear the nerves in it. I want to leave the roof. I'd like to stay up here and talk to Katniss more, but there's an uneasy air up here now. I suggest we go inside.

When we're in the dome I talk again. I don't want us talking, becoming friends, to end. I ask something that's been on my mind for years. I ask about Gale. I confirm his identity, as the one who drew Prim back at the reaping, even though I didn't really have to. I knew who he was. She also confirms that they aren't related. I knew that, too, but in the back of my mind I always hoped they were always hanging out because they were cousins. No such luck. I don't tell her that he came to say goodbye to me. Well, he didn't really say goodbye, more like he just threatened me, but whatever.

Katniss surprises me by saying that my father stopped by to give her cookies. I hadn't known that. Maybe my dad has known that I've liked Katniss all along. Suddenly, I wish I'd told him before, just to bring us that much closer as father and son. I don't find it strange that he promised to look after her sister – like I said, everyone loves Prim.

I don't know if Katniss knows about the history between her mom and my dad, so I causally say, "He knew your mother when they were kids."

The answer I was looking for is clear before she responds, as the surprise on her face is evident. She makes some polite comment about how her mom grew up in town. All too quickly, we're at her door and she's returning my jacket and saying goodnight. Much too quick. I wish I could propose we play a game of cards or something before we go to bed, so we can spend more time together, but her door is already closing.

So I just say "See you," and walk away.

* * *

**I wrote this pretty quickly because I just moved back into my dorm and I'm getting everything all set for classes.**

**Please be kind and review!  
**


	7. Training

It's the first day of training, and even though I know I should try to get as much sleep as I can on these days, the ones before we go into the Games, I just can't force myself to stay in bed past six in the morning. I don't remember what I dreamed of – I rarely do – but I know it caused me to toss and turn.

I take a quick shower and change into the clothes that have been chosen for me to train in – black pants, a burgundy tunic, and leather shoes – and leave my room, running into Haymitch. I have to say that I am extremely shocked to see him up and about this early. It's not even seven o'clock this morning, but he's awake and not drunk as a skunk. Yet.

We walk into the dining room together and Katniss has already beaten us here. I see that we're wearing matching outfits to train in, and I'm impressed with our stylists once more. Unity here between tributes is practically unheard of. Generally it's everyone for themselves, until they form allies in the arena. I'm about to crack a smile and a joke at her about liking her outfit when I see that her expression turns to a scowl when it lands on me.

I keep my mouth shut now, as I'm baffled. I make my plate and think about what I could have possibly done to make her irritated with me, as she clearly is this morning. As I sit down and start to eat, I wrack my brain over the events that happened last night. I didn't move in for a kiss, so that can't be it. Is she annoyed that I gave her my jacket? Does she think I gave it intending to receive something in return? I have no idea. But she's still glaring at me. I give up trying to find the cause and ignore the look.

Katniss finishes her breakfast only moments before I do, and then we both wait for Haymitch to finish his. Even after he finishes, before he'll get down to business, he takes out his flask and drinks from it. I knew he wouldn't be sober for that long. The thought makes me snort as he says, "So let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."

This surprises me, as I assumed we'd be training together no matter what. Don't we all train together downstairs in the Center? I'm more than fine with going through it together, unless Katniss doesn't want to. But she seems just as confused as I am as she asks, "Why would you coach us separately?"

Haymitch says, "Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about."

Immediately I answer, "I don't have any secret skills." It can't be that big of a secret, can it? I mean, I'm a baker's son. What kind of secret skills have I honed over the years? How to avoid burning myself when opening the bread oven? I look at Katniss and think of the trades she's made with my father over the years, and add, "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels."

When she looks at me with a hint of surprise, I wonder where she thinks the meat she's been trading with my father has been going all these years. She gets over this surprise quickly and just says, "You can coach us together."

I nod. Haymitch claps his hand together, and says, "All right, so give me some idea of what you can do."

It's laughable, really, how quickly my answer pops into my head. The first answer I have is bake bread. Yes, that is my talent to use in the arena: bake. I shake my head, "I can't do anything." I can't help but add on, "Unless you count baking bread." I say it as a joke but neither of them laughs, so I just leave it alone. Haymitch and Katniss, I've quickly come to learn, form a tough crowd to please.

Haymitch tells "I already know you're handy with a knife."

But before she even says it, I think of how she's better with a bow and arrow. I've heard more people than only my father comment on what a good shot she is. Always gets the animal right in the eye. I wait for her to brag of her talents – she should, after all they are a lot better than most could do – but all she says is that she's "all right."

I can't hold myself in, and I give her a look like she's crazy and say, "She's excellent!" And I go on to tell of the people I know are pleased with the meat she brings in from her hunting. If she's going to stay alive here, she'll need Haymitch's, hopefully good, advice.

Now Katniss is looking at me like I've just done something shady, or had an ulterior motive, but really I was just being honest. The suspicion doesn't fade and she asks, "What are you doing?"

I continue giving her that same look, "What are _you_ doing?" I go on to tell her not to underrate herself. After all, she had no idea what her skill could accomplish, sponsor-wise. It may help her greatly. And hiding it from Haymitch isn't a really great idea to start with.

She, however, surprises me by saying, "What about you? I've seen you in the market you can lift hundred-pound bags of flour!" She goes on to say something else but I'm not listening.

Does this mean she's noticed me before? The way I've noticed her? Okay, certainly not the way I've noticed her, because I've noticed her to a notably absurd degree. Now Haymitch is looking at me expectantly and I drag myself away from those thoughts. No matter what anyone says, being able to lift bags of flour and being able to kill an animal with a bow and arrow by shooting it through the eye is _not_ even close to being in the same ballpark as one another. I say as much.

She surprises me again by telling Haymitch, "He can wrestle. He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother." Instantly, I'm brought back to that day. I'd signed up to wrestle only because Lucern and I made a bet that whoever placed lower in the competition would take on the other's chores in the bakery for a week. I made it farther than I'd thought I would, but Lucern was the one who _taught_ me how to wrestle, so looking back on it, it was probably a bad decision. Wait a second… Katniss knew that I placed.

Before I let myself begin to think of how this means she could have been noticing me again, I tell myself that it's common knowledge who placed in the wrestling competition. I can honestly say my lack of useful skills disgust me, and I respond, "What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?"

She reminds me of hand-to-hand combat, which I have to admit I've forgotten about because when I think of training, I mostly think of weaponry. She finishes with, "If I get jumped, I'm dead!"

That thought scares me, and my mind quickly forms a scenario in which she's just picking off the other tributes from the trees with a bow and some arrows, eating squirrel that she kills by shooting them perfectly in the eye while she's up there. It makes me feel better. I voice my scenario out loud, then tell her what my mother said to me at the last goodbye. I look down at my feet to avoid looking at her from embarrassment, the words jumping from me, "Then I realized she didn't mean me, she meant you!"

The way Katniss waves her hand like what I'm saying is nothing upsets me. "Oh, she meant you." She tells me.

Oh, really? You weren't even there! I want to scream it at her, as the disappointment and sadness I felt when my mother had said the words to me takes over again. Instead, all I do is point out the specific words my mother had said, "She said, 'she's a survivor that one.'_ She _is."

Katniss must realize I'm telling the truth, when her eyes suddenly go out of focus and she speaks a moment later, sounding years younger and less fierce when she says quietly, "But only because someone helped me."

She's holding a roll in her hands and I briefly recall the day five years ago when I gave her bread when she was starving outside of the bakery. My tone is gentler than before, softened by the memory as I say, "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you." _And maybe with their help and mine, you'll be able to make it back to District 12._

When she tells me that people will be dying to sponsor me just as much as her, I'm incredulous. I roll my eyes at Haymitch and tell him, "She has no idea. The effect she can have." I can't bring myself to look at Katniss now, after I've said these words I've been thinking for so long. She honestly does have no clue how of the emotions she can make people feel.

Like when she lets her vulnerability show, it's an automatic instinct of anyone around her to protect her. When I gave her that bread I was doing what anyone, besides my semi-heartless mother, would have done when they saw her like that. When she laughs, which I haven't seen very many times, the effect is dazzling. Her face transforms into something that would make any man stop and stare. That night, when she was the girl on fire, I'm certain I wasn't the only person who would be willing to die for her.

Now I look over and see her glaring. Honestly, I don't even understand what I do to make her angry. I was complimenting her; not insulting her. Haymitch then nods, and says something to Katniss about her hunting skills. All their words do is make me recall the image of Katniss in the tree in the arena.

When he then looks at me and says my name I start paying attention again. "Never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player." He gives us both advice to try to broaden our horizons in the Training Center and not to show the other tributes our greatest skills. I listen closely, because everything Haymitch has to say when he's relatively sober, I figure, has to be something worth hearing.

Finally he tells us, "One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute."

Wait a minute. I'm fine with spending more time with Katniss, but she's clearly not willing to spend time with me. And I don't want to make her any more unhappy here than she needs to be. But even as I start to object, he cuts me off by banging his hand on the table, "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do what I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other! Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

Dismissed. Just like that. Though we did agree to do what he told us, I don't see why he's so angry with us. Then again, a deal is a deal, and we did make one. Okay, maybe befriending Katniss won't be so hard. After all last night, I thought Katniss and I were on the way to being friends. And I've always wanted to be closer to her. I figured, given this last bit of news, she'd want to spend some time together before training. But when we start to walk out of the room, Katniss makes a point of ignoring me and storms, feet ahead of me, into her room before I can even say a word to her.

I walk up to the roof rather than go to my own room. As I look out on the city I wonder why Katniss dislikes me so much. I don't even have to wonder if I'm pathetic for being willing to die to keep her safe when she clearly dislikes me. Because the answer here is clearly yes. I shrug it off, because pathetic or not, I'm going to do it.

As I look out onto the city of the Capitol, I'm reminded of how much I dislike it here. People can say what they want about District 12, and most everything they say – even the bad things – is true. But back home, we aren't fake like this. We don't have this shiny polish coating everything we do. But it's everywhere here. It's like saying every mistake made, every bad decision that's been done can all be over looked with just a little gloss and polish. It's beautiful, all right, and I still want to paint it. But it's beauty is as artificial as the fire that lit up my cape.

I check my watch and there's fifteen minutes until ten, so I go back downstairs and see Effie walking toward the elevator. I catch up with her and she smiles, "Ah, Peeta. Always so prompt. It's wonderful, having you as a tribute. Katniss, of course, is fine, but never on time."

We make quiet conversation until we hear Katniss coming. Effie escorts us to the gigantic gym designed with anything and everything that could possibly improve our skills for the games. Every other tribute is already here, even though we aren't late.

Some turn and glare at us as we get the number 12 pinned on our backs. I know they dislike us already, mostly because our fire costumes showed them up. The fact that they dislike us makes me even more glad to be wearing the matching outfits. It shows them that we're together in this, not individual like they are. Even if that is supposed to be the point of the games. Scratch that – _especially_ because that is the point of the games. Not only are Katniss and I showing up our competition by doing this show of unity, we're saying it to the Capitol.

As the head of the Training Center, Atala, tells us about all of the different stations we have at our disposal, I get a good look at our competition. Not dressed up in some strange costumes like the last time I saw them, but in their prime. I'm not worried about some of them, like the guy with the bad leg or tiny Rue. There are two girls here who frighten me, though. There's a redhead from District 5 – I've never caught her name – who seems sneaky. I feel like she's already calculating what she needs to do to win. The second is Clove, or maybe it's Glove, from District 2. She just _looks_ malicious. And out of the males, there are two that I know I would never be able to take down in hand-to-hand combat. One is the guy from District 11, Thresh I'm pretty sure is his name. He's humongous. But he doesn't have the same nasty, fierce look on his face that Cato from District 2 has. I hope to god Cato gets taken out early so neither Katniss nor I will have to take him on ourselves.

Atala tells us to go train, and my eyes follow the crew from Districts 1, 2, and 4. They're the Careers, and it seems that they're already a team. The one I'm most worried about, Cato, picks up a sword and performs tricks I could never dream of learning. I take a deep breath and crack my neck – surely this will be a long day – before I notice Katniss is still watching the Careers. She looks apprehensive and I want to prevent her from psyching herself out, so I nudge her with my elbow, "Where would you like to start?"

She looks over all of the other tributes once more, noting the skill of the Careers, and the incompetency of the others. I remember that Haymitch doesn't want us to be shooting bows and arrows or lift weights until we're in front of the Gamemakers, so I'm willing to try to learn anything else. Katniss suggests, "Suppose we tie some knots."

I've never really been someone who's focused on knot-tying before… it doesn't really seem like it would be a useful skill. But I'll agree to do whatever she wants, so I just say, "Right you are," and follow her over to the station.

I'm stumbling over some basic knots, that really just reinforce my thought that these knots won't help me in the least in the Games, when Katniss gets the knot-tying trainer's attention when saying she can set snares, which gives the guy the idea to teach us something that will be really useful – a trap that can leave someone dangling by a leg in a tree. This makes me rethink my previous ideas. Maybe knowing this won't be so unhelpful. We both master this trap before we move onto the camouflage station.

I really enjoy this one, and I blur colors together, making conversation with this trainer. "The color mixing is really a big part of realistic camouflage, isn't it?"

He's very friendly and enthusiastic, and he answers, "Yes! You can't just stick with one lone color, you know, unless you're stuck in a pile of mud."

We chuckle and I continue to work on my camouflage. As I put the mud, clay, and berry juices to work, creating a realistic scene from the woods, I'm reminded of a design that I once put on a special-order cake. The memory prompts me to tell Katniss, "I do the cakes." This reminds me that Katniss and I are supposed to be talking, being friendly, which we haven't been doing very much so far this morning.

I know what I said came out of virtually nowhere, and Katniss is clearly confused and not paying much attention when she asks, "What cakes?"

I explain which cakes, and when she doesn't say anything back, I decide I'll let her have some silence while I go back to focusing on the camouflage design I have working on my arm. When I look back up at her, I can tell from the look on her face that she's annoyed. Again. For no reason that I can name. Again. Finally she says, "That's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death."

I know she didn't mean that as a joke, just a sarcastic comment, but I've never been good at sarcasm, so I try to turn it into a joke, "Don't be so superior. You can never tell what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake –"

I've only just begun the joke when Katniss interrupts me, her voice clearly not amused, as she says, "Say we move on."

Okay, she's not in a joking mood. Not a big deal; I'm sure many people in this arena aren't. Maybe the only reason I am is because I've already accepted my fate and made a plan of what I'm going to do in the arena. Maybe it's just because I've always been one who can appreciate a good laugh regardless of the situation, especially one at my own expense. Whatever the reason, I keep my jokes to myself for the next few days, after realizing they only irritate Katniss even more. Perhaps that's a good thing; we use the little time we have left to actually train.

Katniss and I are surprisingly good at quite a few things, myself in hand-to-hand combat and she in edible plants. We learn how to make fires and shelter, and try to learn knife throwing. I'm not so good at that, but Katniss picks up those kinds skills quickly. The Gamemakers stop by every day and are mostly focused on the Careers, per usual, but at times I'll catch them watching me and Katniss with a measuring look. I can only assume, well, hope, really, that it's a good thing.

We eat lunch downstairs in the same room as all of the other tributes. The Careers sit together, then Katniss and I do, and everyone else sits alone. Katniss generally doesn't welcome my conversation, mostly with her cutting me off with snide remarks or just ignoring me completely, so on the second day I stopped trying.

But as we eat lunch today I'm practically bursting for conversation. At home, during school lunches, my table is always full of my friends, and there is nonstop conversation flowing, jokes being made, about any and everything. Plus, it makes sense Katniss and I should be talking, having a good time. A united front doesn't mean just hanging out together; it means being friendly. So I choose a topic of conversation that I know a lot about for lunch today.

Bread.

I take the bread basket and dump it out in front of us. Katniss looks at me strangely, and I tell her, "I noticed on the first day here how they don't just give us the bread from here in the Capitol, but also some from every district."

She doesn't look quite so bored right now, which encourages me to go on. Picking up a certain piece of bread, I hold it up, "District 12, obviously. You know, I thought I wouldn't want to have the same bread here that we have at home, but I like it even more here. Plus, ours is amongst the only kind that looks… normal."

I place the bread from home back in the basket, and pick up another, "This one's from District 4."

I'm relieved when I can tell that she's actually not bored. She asks, "How can you tell?"

"It's tinted green, because they put seaweed in it. Plus, you know, it's shaped like a fish." I hold the bread sideways so the shape becomes apparent. "Shapes matter in breads, even when you don't always see them right off." I put down the District 4 bread and pick up another roll. "Like the shape in this one. Most people just write it off as being a bit strange. But when you look at it the right way…" I flip it around, "It's a tree. So this is from District 7."

Dare I say… Katniss even looks interested? I make sure to keep talking so I hold her attention, picking up another roll, "See this one? It's shaped like a crescent moon, and the little black seeds are common grains found in District 11." I go on and on until I've covered all of them, before I scoop them back into the basket. I'm sure my face must be flushed with the attentive look Katniss is giving me. We actually just had an exchange where she didn't end up angry with me.

Katniss comments, "You certainly know a lot."

I joke, "Only about bread." Well, it's not really a joke because I certainly do know an abnormal amount of information about bread. I look around and notice, now that we're speaking to each other, we're drawing a lot of looks from around the room. Perfect. We're really showing them that we're different than they are – we're not alone. I tell Katniss, "Okay, now laugh as if I've said something funny." And then she starts laughing, which is so absurdly unconvincing, that I laugh genuinely along with her. It doesn't matter that Katniss' laugh isn't real, because I'm the only one that knows, and it's drawing even more attention to us. Now, after my first real interaction with Katniss in days, I'm actually happy, and I let the smile stay on my face and I suggest that Katniss tell me a story now.

She asks, "Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?"

I tell her that it sounds fascinating, because it really does. Nothing that exciting, or scary, has ever happened to me. So she starts in on the tale of how she accidentally challenged a black bear over the right to claim a beehive. I find myself enthralled with the story, and I ask her questions – where did the bear chase you? When did it stop? How old were you? Then she tells me about how she had to scramble up a practically branchless tree, and she makes these hand movements that make me nearly split my sides with laughter. I wonder if we're actually on that friendly path again, like we seemed to be on that night on the roof.

The next day, we're trying out spear throwing. This is one of those skills that Katniss is picking up easily, but I'm struggling. As Katniss makes one of her throws, I notice someone standing behind us. She must've been there for a while – it's the small girl from 11. Rue. She looks like she'd like to join us, but I don't know if Katniss would welcome her or not, so I just tell her, "I think we have a shadow."

I don't want to make the little girl uncomfortable, so I don't turn and look when Katniss does. She keeps looking at her, looking sad, as I throw. I say quietly, "I think her name is Rue."

For a second Katniss looks at me with that sad look in her eyes, then she asks severely, "What can we do about it?"

Okay, this is one of those times where she doesn't want me to talk again. I just tell her I was just making conversation, then I shut up. But I do wish Katniss had let little Rue be a part of this small group we have. She's so small and alone in this place. I don't push it though, and I just follow whatever Katniss wants to do. Unity.

Every waking moment that we're not training, we're with Effie and Haymitch. At dinner they grill us about every detail that went on in the Center and at breakfast they tell us what they _want_ to go on in the Training Center. I can tell by how tense Katniss is during these meals that she doesn't like it. But, honestly, I do. I like that they, especially Haymitch, are paying attention to what goes on with us. They're doing their jobs, and they're making noticeable efforts to try to keep us alive in that arena.

After hours of grilling from Haymitch, we head to the bedrooms. I can tell his questions put Katniss on edge, so I try to lighten her mood, "Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink."

For the first time in days I hear her genuinely laugh, and I feel accomplished. Then she abruptly stops and gets that weary look in her eyes, saying, "Don't. Don't pretend when there's no one around."

Pretend? Even though it was Haymitch's idea for us always to be together, I am not pretending. I've wanted to be her friend, and a whole lot more, for… almost forever. I just don't understand why she is so resistant. I'm tired of always trying and getting nowhere – or more apt, trying and making her mad. "All right Katniss."

So I stop making the effort, only doing so in front of people. The way she wants it. I stop talking about bread and making jokes, and I especially stop myself from thinking that we may end up being friends, the way I had thought only days before. It's time to go in front of the Gamemakers before I know it, and certainly before I'm ready. Since we're District 12, we'll be last to go. Since she's the girl, Katniss will be the very last tribute seen. We already know this probably won't bode well for us, being last. I don't really have high hopes for myself, figuring that they won't really be impressed by me all that much. After these few days, I haven't learned anything that would really impress anyone, and all I have to fall back on is my strength.

But I worry about Katniss. I wonder if it would be better for her to get a high score or a low one? A low one would mean she was an easy target, but it would also mean the Careers probably wouldn't bother with her for a while. If she gets a high score, it means she's a force to be reckoned with, but it also means the Careers with spend time plotting against her. I decide a higher score would be better than a low one. It would make them curious, and even a bit intimidated, about her. Then I'm called in.

I stand, prepared to go, but Katniss' voice stops me. She gives me advice, "Remember what Haymitch said, about being sure to throw the weights." It makes me feel better, about both going in there and our friendship. I thank her, and tell her, lamely, to "shoot straight." Because it's all I could think of. _Impress the hell out of them, like I know you can_ would have been better, but I doubt she's ready to hear me say something like that at this early stage of our faux-friendship.

As soon as I walk into the room, I know this session simply can't end with a high score for me. All of the Gamemakers are sitting at their table, drunk. As drunk as Haymitch on a good day, I think, as they are all singing some unclear, yet upbeat, song. Great. Oh, well, though. There's really nothing I can do. I head straight for the weights, and bench press a couple hundred pounds. It gets my blood pumping, and at least now I have one or two of them looking at me.

I walk over to where they have a few twenty or thirty pound balls. I pick one up and throw it. It lands about ten or twelve yards away. I pick up a second, and just as I'm about to throw it, it starts to slip from my hand. I wince, thinking _great job, Peeta_. I scramble to get a good grip on it before the thing falls, and I do. Thank goodness, otherwise it would've landed on, and crushed, my foot. I can't think this is making a good impression, but I throw it anyway. It lands a few feet behind the first ball. Yeah, definitely not satisfactory. I take the last on lined up and throw it as hard as I can. It almost doubles the distance I cleared with the first ball. Even I'm impressed with myself on that one.

I look over at the Gamemakers, and two of them are nodding, three others are looking at me, but the rest are still engrossed in their drinking. How freaking great. I walk over to where they have these big sacks leaning against the wall. I have no idea what they're here for, but I heft one up. It's about as heavy as the flour bags I lift for the bakery, give or take a few pounds. I get a good grip on it, summon up all my annoyance at the Gamemakers for not even noticing that I am here, and I throw it. It's just as impressive a throw, even more so, than the ball.

I look to the Gamemakers once more, and now more of them are watching. I do the same thing, lifting up the second sack, and throw it. Not as good as the first, but still fine. I'm looking around for something else to throw when one of them from the center of the table clears her throat and says, "That was fine, young man. Thank you."

So I leave.

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**I think this is the longest chapter yet... anywho, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Please review! :)**


	8. Aftermath

**To everyone who has read and reviewed so far, thank you! This chapter is rather uneventful, but we're drawing even closer to the Games :)**

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As I take the elevator up, I think about how Katniss is faring. Hopefully her shooting amazes them enough that they pay attention to her. Hopefully they pay more attention to her than they did to me. Effie and Haymitch are both waiting outside of the elevator for me as I step off.

Effie jumps forward, and she's preparing to speak, as Haymitch says, "Effie, calm down. He'll tell us at the same time that Katniss does. Tonight at dinner. Just tell me, kid, were they incredibly drunk?"

I nod, "You'd have been proud."

Effie's hand flies to her mouth, "The Gamemakers? Drunk? But – but it's evaluation time! Why would they drink, when this is so important?"

Haymitch puts his arm around her shoulder too quick for her to evade, "Because, Effie, it's evaluation time! They're the Gamemakers – they can do whatever they want." He slaps me on the shoulder, a move that makes me think of Thyler, and sends me to my room. Effie reminds me to be ready for dinner in a few hours.

By the time I close my door and change out of my training clothes, I hear Katniss' door slam, and Haymitch and Effie are both going crazy out in the hall. I open my door and peek out, "What's going on?"

Haymitch answers as Effie keeps knocking, "Sunshine in there ran from the elevator to her room in tears. Now she won't come out."

That really doesn't sound good at all. Her session must have gone even worse than mine did. I guess I'll find out at dinner. I close my door and lay in bed, and eventually I hear Haymitch and Effie retreat from Katniss' door. My body is tired after everything that happened today, but when I close my eyes, my mind is racing. There is no chance of a nap for me before dinner.

After a quick shower and a change, I leave my room and go into the sitting room. Portia is in there, and when she sees me she hops up from her couch, "Oh! How did it go? What happened? How were they? How were you?"

I laugh at her exuberance and she draws me to sit down with her. I admit, "I don't think it went very well." I explain how they were drunk, how most of them didn't look at me once.

She asks, "Well, what did you show them?"

So I tell her about everything I did. The weights I lifted, the balls I threw, the heavy bags. She nods, "Well, I think you did fine. If they don't give you the score you deserve then you'll just have to get sponsors another way. That's what you have Haymitch for."

It's hard for me to hold in my laughter at that, but I manage to. "Right. Thanks, Portia."

She smiles, then checks her watch. "Oh, dinner time. Well, it is in ten minutes, but Effie would prefer if we were there now."

I nod in agreement and we go into the dining room. Haymitch and Cinna are both there already, and they greet us. Minutes later, Effie leads Katniss in. She looks like she's been crying; her face is red and blotchy. Jeez, what went on in her session with the Gamemakers that could make her cry? She wasn't even crying the night of the reaping.

I try to catch her eye while everyone else talks, but she's solely focused on her food. More like, focused on not making eye contact with anyone. As the adults strike up some small talk about the weather, she finally looks up at me. I know I can't ask out loud what happened, so I just raise a brow. She shakes her head and breaks eye contact.

I don't have to wonder for much longer, though, because as the main course is served Haymitch says, "Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?"

I tell them, "By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I just threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go." And no one says anything in response. I look around the table, and everyone is just looking at their plates, except Portia, who's smiling at me encouragingly. I think they feel the disappointment and defeat that I do.

Haymitch asks Katniss, "And you, sweetheart?" Sweetheart. I know she really dislikes it, and that it sets her on edge. And that's the reason Haymitch keeps doing it.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers." She admits.

My fork falls out of my hand. I'm not the only one who's completely shocked by Katniss' admission. In fact, judging by Effie's outburst, I'm experiencing one of the tamer reactions. I understand where she was coming from with that idea. I didn't have the guts to say… throw one of those balls at them, but I would be lying if I said the thought wasn't tempting.

As everyone starts to talk, I think about how that's how Katniss and myself are different. The thing is: I didn't have that thought when I was showing off my 'skills' for them. Katniss did. That's why she's the survivor. I was annoyed at the Gamemakers lack of attention, but I didn't take action. That's the sort of initiative that can and will win you the Games.

I only tune back in as Haymitch says, "More likely they'll make your life hell in the arena."

Isn't that exactly what they do in the Hunger Games already? Make your life a living hell? I say, "Well, they're already promised to do that to us anyway."

Haymitch agrees, "Very true." Katniss and I both watch him as he takes a bite of food, then I realize that his respect for Katniss has just gone up. He _enjoys_ what she did, whether or not he'll say it. And he kind of does say it, as he asks, "What were their faces like?"

Katniss plays on our senses of humor and tells us, "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them. one man tripped backward into a bowl of punch."

We all laugh, and even Effie wants to. She makes a surprising statement of how no one should discount us just because we're from District 12. I never would have thought that Effie thought that; I've always assumed she is stuck with District 12 because she has to be. But maybe there's more to her than I thought.

Katniss shakes her head, "I'll get a very bad score."

Portia, who I've now come to realize is excellent at consoling, tells Katniss comforting words about low scores, which Katniss clearly needs to hear right now. I add on, making her smile, as I recount my tale of almost dropping the heavy ball on my foot. Back on friendly terms again, I suppose. We finish eating, then all gather around the television to see our scores. I'm nervous, for both myself and Katniss.

They show the scores in order of District. The Careers do excellently, as usual, all pulling in at least an eight. We go up through the rest of the districts, and the farther up we go, the worse I feel. Not for me, but for everyone else. Everyone from Districts 5 – 10 pull in fours, fives, and an occasional six. I wonder why no one ever calls the Careers out for having trained beforehand even though it's against the rules.

I'm impressed and relieved when little Rue from 11 pulls in a seven. She must have some skills that fascinated the Gamemakers, and it makes me happy. She, most likely, won't be killed in the bloodbath. Maybe her skill is one that will give her a fighting chance in this thing. My name flashes on screen. Where's that four? I think, just as my name is replaced with the number eight.

Eight? I'm shocked. I thought, even if they were all watching me while completely sober, I would pull in a five, six at the highest. But I got an eight. Some of my nerves ease away, but there's still Katniss' score to come. Her name flashes… an eleven! Katniss pulled an eleven! Our scores combined beat out the combined scores from all of the Career districts. Wonder how they're feeling about that.

Now we're all cheering and clapping, and this is the happiest atmosphere we've had the whole time we've been here. Portia is jumping around me, and she gives me a hug, "An eight! And you thought you were going to get a four."

Portia draws away at the same time Cinna does from Katniss and they start a conversation. I look at Katniss and smile, "Good job!"

She looks uneasy as she accepts my congratulations, "Thanks. You too."

It's awkward for her, I can tell because of the way she says it, but I decide that awkward is much better than making her angry. Soon afterwards, Effie urges us to bed, saying we have a big day of preparation ahead of us.

For the first time since I've been here, I fall asleep quickly, and I don't wake up every hour. I sleep straight through until four o'clock, which I've been getting up at for the past few days. It's a hard habit to break. Today is the first day we don't have training downstairs; it's interview preparation.

It's only five and I'm already showered and ready for the day. But I know no one would be ready for breakfast yet, and I'm not that hungry anyway. I walk over to the desk in my room and sit. There are pencils, not the charcoal kind that I like to draw with at home but I'm not very choosy, and some paper. I start to sketch and let my mind wander.

With only today and tomorrow left before the games, I have to really decide: am I completely sure I'm going to do everything in my power to keep Katniss safe? Because that's more than going to the Hunger Games and having the possibility of coming home. That means when the time comes, I'll sacrifice myself for her. Am I really prepared for that?

My mind takes me to an event that happened last year.

My friends and I were all fifteen. Johle Rathbone was a friend of mine, well not really a friend but he was my best friend's brother. Johle was a year older than me and all my friends, but he'd been help back in school years ago, so he and Mick, his brother and my best friend, were in the same grade.

Johle fancied himself the leader of our group of friends. He told everyone who would listen about his sexual conquests and was hardly respectful when it came to women. That alone gave me an instant dislike for him. You can tell the character of a man from the way he treats the opposite sex. We were all hanging out on the front steps of the school. School had let out, but I didn't have to be at the bakery for another hour, so I was killing it hanging out with the guys.

One of our friends, Zane, was being badgered by all of us because his girlfriend, the butcher's daughter, famously would not do anything more than closed mouth kissing. We were all needling Zane, telling him it's just something he's got to live with, because really who would break up with the _butcher's_ daughter? That guy knows his way around with a cleaver.

Johle interrupted the teasing and said, "That's why you go out with the chicks from the Seam, Zane. They'll give it up for anything. Really, offer one a cookie and they'll strip."

The smile fell off of my face as the rest of the guys laughed. I never understood why all of these conversations always ended up centered on the so called "easiness" of the girls from the Seam. Not all of them were easy. Probably the same amount of the merchant girls, who weren't as virtuous as they'd like their parents to think. Except, perhaps, for Zane's girlfriend.

Johle continued, "There's this Seam girl in my math class who's been acting hard to get. A true tease. Katniss Everdeen."

District 12 is so small, everyone knows everyone. So all of the guys know Katniss. I said, "Maybe she's not playing hard to get; maybe she just doesn't want to have anything to do with _you_."

This brings all of the attention my way, and Johle steps forward, "Was that a joke?"

"No." The fact that I, not being a terribly tall man myself, tower over Johle gives me confidence, "That wasn't a joke. I'm sick of hearing you talk about the Seam girls like they're below anyone else. We're all just people."

He snorts, "That's a lot of talk coming from you, bread boy. And the Seam girls are below everyone else. All you have to do is throw some food at them, and they'll be under you in a heartbeat."

Before I can stop myself, my fist swings up and connects with Johle's jaw. He stumbles back a step, then trips and falls. Mick steps up to me, "Hey, man cut it out. You know how Johle is."

I rub my knuckles, "Yeah, he's rude and disrespectful."

Mick's eyes darken, "He's my brother, so _cut it out_."

"He's your brother so maybe you should try to help him monitor his speech so he doesn't come off like a jerk all the time." I stalked off after that. Mick, who'd been my best friend since we were ten, didn't talk to me for a week after that.

I think about how I was willing to punch someone in the face and get into a fight with my best friend over Katniss, before we'd even ever spoken. I punched someone in the face for only talking indecently about her. Now we're talking about her life and death. I realize that I've already made the decision: I am going to do whatever I can to keep her safe.

If I went into these games with the goal of winning, I know I wouldn't make it. After seeing Cato and Thresh train, I know that they could both take me down. And how could I live with myself knowing that I let Katniss die? Even if I didn't kill her myself, I would never be able to make eye contact with her family or with myself in the mirror.

There's not that much time for me to inform Haymitch of my plan, but I'm going to be alone with him for hours today, aren't I? Perfect timing. Finally I look down at my drawing and realize that I've drawn her face. Embarrassed, even though she'll never know, I roll it up and throw it out.

I stand up and check the time. It's just past six now and I'm hungry. Breakfast would certainly be served by now. I leave my room and go into the dining room, where both Haymitch and Effie are already. They're both glowering at each other, until Effie catches sight of me. "Peeta, we have a busy day ahead of us. Today, you and Katniss will spend four hours with me for presentation for your interviews, then four hours with Haymitch for content. So, you'll both be with me until lunchtime."

Wait, we're going to be preparing together? I hadn't realized the interview prep would be the same as training, as we both do separate interviews. Well, I need to do mine separately. There is no way Katniss would respond kindly if she knew of my plan in the arena. I clear my throat and check to make sure Katniss isn't coming yet when I say, "I'd like to be coached separately from now on."

They are both clearly surprised and Effie says, "Oh, but why?"

Haymitch answers, "The girl's obviously pushed him over the edge. I thought it would happen days ago."

"No," I say quickly, "That's not why. It's just… complicated. I –" I'm cut off by Katniss coming into the room. My explanation will have to wait. We all make our plates and start eating in silence until Katniss starts asking Haymitch about today's plans.

Haymitch looks at me furtively, as he responds, "That's right."

"You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and eat at the same time," she says. So she knew this preparation part would be us together.

Haymitch plays with his fork for a moment, before looking at Katniss, "Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach."

As Katniss asks, "What's that?" I'm not really worried about Haymitch breaking the news to her about my wanting to be coached separately; she'll probably be happy. Katniss has made it no secret that she's not interested in my friendship, plus it seems that every statement out of my mouth makes her angry. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced she'll be the happiest I've seen her at training after she hears.

Then Haymitch tells her, "Peeta has asked to be coached separately." And her gaze whips to me. It seems I was wrong. She's not happy. Not happy at all.

* * *

**It's my belief that reviews heal the soul ;) **

**So those rascally Gamemakers... my question is do you think they get drunk every year when they're evaluating everyone, or only every so often? And why do you think they do? I don't know, for some reason I was always fascinated by the Gamemakers and their drinking songs...  
**


	9. Preparation

I don't know what I could ever do to Katniss to make her happy. Not even happy – just… not so angry. When I try to make conversation with her, she gets mad. When I compliment her, she gets mad. When I say I'd like to be coached separately, she gets mad. How do I win with her?

She says that she thinks it's "good" we're not training together anymore but the way she's glaring alternatively at me and her food, I don't think she really means it. as we finish eating, Haymitch says that I'll start my preparation with him, and Katniss with Effie. As they head off to Katniss' bedroom, I follow Haymitch to the sitting room.

When we're in the room, he sits me down, and narrows his eyes speculatively. I grin and reach up my hand, "Hello Caesar Flickman, how are you tonight?"

Haymitch ignores my hand but looks satisfied as he sits on a couch opposite me, "Likable. That's your approach. You're a nice guy, everyone likes you so far here. Even Effie. And god only knows what it takes to please that woman."

I rest my hands on my knees, "So when I'm onstage, I just… do what I normally do?"

Haymitch nods, "Just be yourself. Try to add in a bit more comic relief. Charm the crowd. Make them laugh." I nod, then he leans back and asks, "So why did you decide to do this separately from Katniss?"

I hesitate before answering, "Because… I need to tell you something. I… like Katniss."

Haymitch raises a brow at me, "Well, that's strange for sure, that girl probably doesn't have many friends, but –"

I cut him off, "No, I – I _love_ her."

He stares at me like I'm insane. I feel myself blushing under his incredulous look. Finally he says, "What's it matter? You're both dead anyway. Just steer clear from her in the arena, and hopefully you won't have to be the one who kills her."

It's time to tell him my plan now. "Listen, I know I'm not going home from here. I _know_ that. But I don't want to turn into someone I'm not. I don't want to die as just a pawn in the Games. I want to die as myself. And I can't define myself without thinking of Katniss. You said it yourself, I'm going to die anyway. So why not die trying to help her?"

Haymitch is staring at me with some emotion I can't decipher. Pity, I think, sympathy. Before I can even question it, his eyes are hard again. "Well, if that's the way you want to play it, I'm not going to go against you. But I should make it clear here and now – at the beginning of the Game, I have a choice to make. Who am I going to try to save?"

Before he can answer his own question, I do it for him, "Katniss. You're going to try to help her."

That look of pity is back now and he says quietly, "You're a fool."

I don't intend on replying, because I figured this would be his reaction. But the loathing I can see in his eyes isn't directed at me; it's directed at the only other person in this room: himself. If it were someone else, I'd ask if they'd like to talk about it with me. But I know if I asked him, he'd get angry. He and Katniss are alike in that way.

We sit in silence for a bit. I'm just staring at my hands, and Haymitch seems to be inwardly berating himself. After a bit, he says, "If you really want to help her, you can make your _love_ work to her advantage."

I raise my brows, "I doubt she'd welcome an admission of love from me."

His eyes are narrowed now, in thought. "No, she wouldn't. And she's probably going to take a lot of convincing. But others would buy into it. Sponsors."

This is all a bit lost on me and I ask, "How?"

"In your interview, Caesar will ask about your love life. You're a good looking kid, he'll say. If you're going for a more likable angle, he's going to ask you more personal questions than he'll ask the others. Don't be afraid to play up your strong points. You're a self-deprecating, humorous, baker's son. Who is in love with his fellow tribute. The crowd will eat it up." He's rubbing his hands together, and has a far off look as if imagining my interview, before he adds on, "You can do it. You're one of my most likable tributes. You can pull it off."

"So… we shouldn't tell Katniss about what I'm going to say? Won't she be angry?" Of course she's going to be angry, I think, she's angry with me whatever I do.

Haymitch shakes his head as if what I'm suggesting is ludicrous, "If she had any sense she'd realize you're helping her."

"Maybe she'll do well on her own, and she won't really need any help." But this sounds weak, even to my own ears. Katniss can win people over, like she did in the chariot. However, it doesn't happen often, and I know how she feels about the Capitol; she's not going to be anxious to please them in her interview.

Haymitch barks out a laugh, "That girl's about as charming as a decomposing rat. She's going to need all the help she can get."

After he gets over his own joke, even though it isn't really a joke at all, he pretends to be Caesar, interviewing me. I answer and play up the strengths Haymitch told me to use: humor, baker's son. Then my proclamation of love. At the end of the 'interview' Haymitch slaps a hand on his knee, "You did a great job. You're all set. And we still have hours to spare. I need to get a drink." He leads me out of the sitting room, and when he gets his drink, he sips it before saying quietly, "You're the real champ, out of the two of you. I was going to try to get you out alive."

My response is just as quiet and I say, "I know."

After Haymitch has a few drinks, he's back to his regular self, and we're joking around in the dining room for a good hour before Effie and Katniss join us. Neither of them is in a good mood. I wonder if it's because Effie's turn in getting us prepared for the interview is irritating or if it's because Katniss was easy to anger. After all, maybe it's not just me who evokes a quicksilver mood change from her.

The meal is quick and relatively silent, and as soon as it's over Effie is leading me to my room. I can tell she's still put out by her morning meeting with Katniss; her shoulders are stiff, her smile is forced, and she has a deep crease in the middle of her forehead. When she turns to look at me, I smile and ask, "Are you all right, Effie?"

I don't know what I've done, but for some reason this seems to ease most of her tension and she smiles now, "Yes, I am quite all right. Thank you for asking, Peeta."

She surveys what I'm wearing and only makes me change from my pants into folded and into a nicer pair that have a crease in the front. Then she directs me to sit down. Confused, I do, then she tells me I'm doing it all wrong. She makes me stand again, then tells me I must preserve the crease in the front of my pants even after I sit. To do that I have to slightly hitch up my pants right above the knee as I sit down. The first time I do, I know I look like an idiot. To her credit, Effie doesn't laugh. She just makes me repeat the motion about twenty times before I can do it so swiftly it's barely noticeable.

She claps her hands together, "Oh, that's just wonderful." Then she looks at me questioningly, "Why is it that you aren't slouching? Oh, that must sound terribly rude of me. It's just that most of the tributes from your district all have horrible posture."

I explain that growing up with my mother, slouching is just unacceptable. She doesn't respond to that, just moves right on, "Now, eye contact and smiling. They are two of the most important parts of your interview. You have such a nice smile, and you do use it to your advantage. That's excellent. Just, in the interview, smile _harder_. Your use of eye contact is impressive as well. You're just moving right along here."

The only thing we work on after are generic answers to possible questions Caesar might ask, answers that aren't personal but they aren't offensive, either. I don't see myself using them in the future, in the interview or not, but it can't hurt to learn them. It's not a difficult process, nor is it strenuous, so I don't see any harm. I wonder what happened in Katniss' preparation period that turned this simple process into something difficult.

It feels like no time has gone by before everything is over. Effie gives me one of her genuine smiles and tells me I am such a pleasure to work with. And after she leaves, I wonder how she and Haymitch can do it. Coach, train, get to know two new people every year, and then watch them die. I feel bad for them, but gain a new respect for them at the same time. Despite his drinking and her Capitol derived fakeness, they are two strong people.

At dinner, it's only us three. One of our servers says Katniss has requested dinner in her room, and I think about how bad her day must have been if she doesn't even want to see our faces at a meal. Haymitch and Effie exchange insults for a good ten minutes before Effie turns her attention to me. "Oh, yes, Peeta, I forgot to ask you during our session why did you want separate coaching from Katniss?"

Before I can answer, Haymitch mocks me, "He's in _love_ with the girl."

Effie's eyes widen, then fill with sadness, and for once her Capitol-born fake mask is gone. She looks at her lap before going back to me, "_Oh_. I – I… hmm." Haymitch and I exchange looks – Effie Trinket is famously never at a loss for words. Then she looks back up, mask back on, "That is terribly unfortunate."

Haymitch then mocks her, and she retorts something back. As dessert is served, I observe them. Haymitch dislikes Effie. Effie is disgusted by Haymitch. They really do mean their insults. But, at the same time, they thrive with each other. I think again of how difficult this month must be for them – constantly losing two people they've gotten to know. And I know that they depend on each other to be there. Always waiting with an insult, a biting remark. But still _there_.

I excuse myself and go to bed. When I'm in there I think of how inconsistent Katniss has been in terms of our brief relationship here in the Capitol. Angry one minute, friendly the next. Maybe she just chooses for her initial reaction to what I do be anger because she doesn't trust me. How could she trust me? She doesn't know that I'm looking out for her best interest. She thinks I'm looking for a way to kill her. Those moments we have where she lets her guard down – like when she laughs at something I say or when she wished me good luck before I went in front of the Gamemakers – that's the real Katniss. The one I'm fighting to send home to her family.

Katniss is the last thing I think about before I fall asleep.

When I wake up, the first thing I hear is talking. A man's voice and a woman's. I recognize them even before I look over to see Ravilla and Leontius. Ravilla smiles at me as I sit up, "You're awake! We were just discussing how long to let you sleep before we woke you ourselves!"

And that starts off my day with my prep team. They get me into the shower quickly to give me a scrub down that leaves my skin glow. We make conversation about what happens during the interviews as they file my nails and paint them. I've never had my nails done before, and I have to say I greatly dislike having them be done. But as I see the flame designs being painted on them, I understand I need them to play into this whole on-fire thing we have going.

As Ravilla does my nails, Leontius blow dries my hair. Afterwards, all of the waves that are normally in it are gone and it falls straight down my forehead, almost to my eyes and it's all feathery. Then they go over my face with small hints of makeup. Something on my eyes that makes my incredibly pale eyelashes stick out. Something else on them to make, as Ravilla says, "My sparking blue water eyes shine." Then they add something to my cheeks, and something else on my mouth. It's all very faint, and when I look in the mirror I still look like myself. Just more embellished. But I don't like it. I don't like the way it feels coating my face.

I don't complain, though, because I have no doubt Leontius and Ravilla worked hard on deciding the exact shade of everything they were going to use, and they've spent hours doing this to me. They would be crushed if I said I didn't like it. When they deem me ready, Portia comes in, holding my suit up on a hanger.

It's comprised of a black suit jacket, black pants, a flame red shirt, and flamed accents on various places on the jacket. The pants are creased, I note due to my session of preparation with Effie. I have to admit, the suit is good looking. Portia carefully hangs it, then walks over to me, "You look fabulous! Ravilla, Leontius, you did such a good job."

They flush at her compliment, and I smile, "Thanks."

Moments later, Ravilla and Leontius leave the room and Portia gets me settled into my suit. I look pretty snazzy, if I do say so myself. I can only imagine how Katniss looks in her complementing ensemble. Portia wastes no time in proving that she's spoken to either Haymitch or Effie, saying, "I knew you loved her."

I blush – it seems I can't help it when my feelings for Katniss are mentioned, "How did you know?"

"That first night, with the chariot introductions. When you first saw her, that look on your face said it all." Her eyes turn from dreamy into those of a sad puppy, "And I heard about what your strategy in the arena is."

I'm not expecting her to throw her arms around me and hold on tight, but she does. She holds on like we've been friends for years, and she is the best friend I've made since I've been here. Even on that first night, I considered her a friend. She draws back and runs her hands over the front of my suit, fixing wrinkles that don't even exist, "You're a very good man, Peeta. Not many people would do that for someone. It's so sweet. But I was so hoping you'd be the victor."

Her eyes fill with tears and I pat her on the shoulder, "Don't cry for me, Portia. I'll be fine."

Those words are meaningless, as I obviously won't be fine. Regardless, Portia sniffles back her tears, and gives me a big smile, "Well, no matter what happens tonight, you'll look excellent doing it!"

We walk together to the elevator where Effie tells me that I look handsome, and Haymitch rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but remains pretty quiet. Soon Katniss is on her way, and she takes my breath away again. People in town say that everyone from the Seam looks the same. I suppose that's true in a general sense, the same way most of us merchant kids look alike. But Katniss is utterly beautiful. She is in no way interchangeable with anyone from the Seam, from town, from… anywhere. Haymitch was wrong when he said she's got no charm, because even if she was the most ill-mannered, brattiest girl alive, people would still line up to sponsor her. When she looks like this, how could they not.

When we get off the elevator downstairs, Katniss and I take our seats. Because I'm a boy and from District 12, I'll be the last to go. I try to concentrate on everyone else, but I can't. All I do is wonder about what's going to happen during my interview. And even more, what is going to happen during Katniss'. Hopefully between the two of us we'll get enough sponsors to keep her alive throughout the Games, and me long enough to at least do her some good before I die.

By the time Katniss is called for her interview, butterflies are stuffed into my stomach. _Come on, just… let your guard down. Be __you_. Maybe the heavens heard my thoughts, because Katniss is exhilarating. Twirling in her dress, she's magnificent. She makes everyone laugh with her comment about the lamb stew. Charmless? I don't think so. Even so, I think she's going to need more. Everyone who wins always has a ton of people stepping up to sponsor them.

I'm called.

It's not as hard as I thought it would be to sit up here on stage, the eyes of everyone in Panem on me. I shake Caesar's hand and we smile at each other, nod. Caesar takes his seat, and I slowly take mine. By the time I've gotten there, Caesar is looking at me strangely, "What was all that?" He asks, with a smile.

He thinks that's part of my act, and he's right. I explain, "I need to take care to keep the crease in my pants. The crease makes the outfit, you know."

I can practically hear Effie groaning, but the audience laughs. Caesar chuckles himself, like he does at almost everything people say, and he says, "So, your family owns the bakery in District 12, don't they? What's that like?"

I pretend to think hard before answering, "It's certainly doughy. Yeasty, too. And don't even get me started on the flour." They're laughing again, and I think back to the day where I talked about all of the different types of bread from all the different districts. "You can really tell where a tribute is from based on their bread."

Caesar raises a brow, "And how's that?"

I look over at the other tributes, noting District 4, who's style tonight is seaweed based. "District 4, have you ever had their bread?" When Caesar shakes his head, I say, "It's tinted green from the seaweed they put in it." I gesture to the tributes, who aren't looking happy about this, then lean over to Caesar and mock whisper, "Can you see the connection I'm getting at?"

As the audience laughs again, Caesar smiles, "And what about District 12? Do you resemble your bread?"

I do an exaggerated wave of my hand, "Of course! See, we don't really have bread at home. It's just roll shaped lumps of coal painted gold on top." After I say this I point to my hair. I get another laugh, even louder than before.

Caesar then asks, "What's the biggest difference between here and home?"

I snap my fingers, "That's easy – the showers."

He gives me a confused look, "The showers?"

I nod, and confirm by repeating, "The showers. We have all these gizmos and gadgets in ours. I pressed one button by mistake and some flower oil was all over me in a second! Tell me, do I still smell like roses?"

Caesar leans in and sniffs my shoulder, "No." He looks around at the audience, "My shower has strange buttons, too!" Looking back at me, he says, "Do _I _smell like roses? Maybe I hit the wrong button by mistake."

I lean in and sniff his shoulder too, "Hmm. A little bit." The audience laughs even more. "I know I can smell it somewhere…"

He looks jokingly alarmed, "Maybe it's you and I overlooked it." He leans over and sniffs me again, then sits back, "Nope, not there."

I sniff him again, causing even more laughter. I sniff, then sit back and frown, "Oh. I guess I was mistaken. You don't smell like roses after all."

As the crowd starts to calm down, Caesar asks something I've been waiting for, "So, Peeta, do you have a girlfriend back home?"

I take a minute to wonder if this is the right time to reveal about Katniss. But I know I can drag it out longer, get more people into it. Instead of speaking, I make sure my expression is a leading one, and I shake my head.

"Handsome lad like you." As Caesar says this I think of how Haymitch predicted exactly what he was going to say. "There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"

It's time. I sigh, laying it on thick the way I do back home whenever Lucern asks me to do a favor that's not hard at all, but I still want to make it seem like a lot of work. "Well, there is one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember." That is completely 100 percent true, and I flashback to the five-year-old Katniss, in her red dress. I say something else that's true, "But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

As the crowd makes their predictable "aw" sounds, Caesar asks, "She have another fellow?"

_Gale_, I immediately think, but say, "I don't know." And I remember what else Haymitch told me: _make her desirable_. And I add on, "But a lot of boys like her." Then I think of Johle and I have to force myself not to tense up.

Caesar tells me that all I have to do is win, then go home, and the girl will be mine. If only these Games could happen like that.

I hadn't expected this interview to mean anything to me. I didn't think it would sadden me. But as I tell Caesar that winning won't help in my case, I'm struck with misery. I'll never get the chance I'd been hoping for ever since I was five to really be with Katniss. I'll never get to actually hold her hand, like for real and not just for the camera. I'll never get to kiss her. We'll never have a real relationship, the kind that I always imagined we would have someday in District 12. I was just waiting for the day that I got enough courage. But that day will never come.

Caesar has just asked why winning won't help. I take a deep breath and I swallow my misery so I can focus on the interview. My face is heated and I don't have to look at the screens to know I'm blushing. How will Katniss react? What is she going to do? What is she going to say? Everything is racing through my head as I answer, "Because… because… she came here with me."

* * *

**Aw I love Peeta so much... any how. We are oh, so close to the Games!**

**Please review and tell me what you thought. **

**Also, I'm going to be starting up my own Submit Your Own Tribute fiction later tonight or maybe tomorrow. So, if you're interested, submit me a tribute in response later... I can't make any promises but a well-developed tribute from one of my excellent readers might make it farther than some others. Just keep an eye out! And of course I'm not abandoning this one, either, so don't worry about that.  
**


	10. And So It Begins

The misery I thought I swallowed is back. My thoughts are only flashes of moments Katniss and I will never have. Hands holding. Kisses. Hugging. Cuddling. And, absurdly, me touching her hair. It's something I've always wanted to do – run my hands through that luxurious raven colored hair. It's clear to me as Caesar continues asking questions that I've lost my likeability factor. All I can give him are curt, short answers as I try to clear my head.

When I'm done, my throat is clogging from the tears emerging from lost opportunity, and I barely manage to choke out, "Thank you." Before I move to sit in my seat again. I can't bring myself to look at Katniss, even though I'm dying to know what her reaction is. All I do is look at the floor. The flashes in my head are running on a loop, and only after the anthem is done do I look up.

Katniss is already yards ahead of me, heading for the elevators. I find the one with only Thresh and Rue in it, and as we ride up, I manage to take a few deeps breaths and calm down. At the eleventh floor, Thresh walks out without saying a word, and Rue's hand brushes mine for a moment before she leaves. I think she was trying to comfort me.

The doors close again and in a few seconds they reopen on floor twelve. I step out and before I can even look down the hall, I am shoved. I have not even a chance of catching myself before I tip and crash into something behind me. It was glass. I can tell because right before I land, I hear it shatter.

I throw my hands behind me, trying to brace my fall. But it's only worse as the shards of glass send a hundred little biting pains into my skin. I lift my hands to look at them, and can't even see the shard of glass because of the amount of blood they're already oozing. I'm shocked when I look up and see that it's Katniss who shoved me, "What was that for?"

My hands are killing me, worse than any bakery burn I've ever gotten. I try to stand, but I can't use my hands to help propel myself upward as any pressure on them sends shooting pain down my arms, and I don't want to move my legs from the position they're in, otherwise the glass shards will rip through my pants and cut my legs, too. The pain is searing, and I hardly even hear Katniss as she yells, "You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!"

But what did I say about her? I didn't embarrass her; if anything the interview embarrassed me. The issue is wiped from my mind as the elevator doors open and our four adults come out. Effie is horrified to see the state I'm in, her voice near hysterical as she asks, "What's going on? Did you fall?"

And as she and Cinna help me up, I inform them, "After she shoved me." I don't want to get her in trouble, but I doubt they'd believe that I tripped _backwards_ over my own feet, into an urn, and then just sat there like an idiot as I glassed-up my hands.

When I'm standing, I try to listen to what Haymitch and Katniss are saying to each other, but I can't, really, because the pain in my hands is too distracting. As I try to locate and pull out the shards, the only thing I catch from their conversation is how Haymitch emphatically calls Katniss a fool. He called me the exact same thing yesterday.

By the time I come back to the conversation, about half the shards are picked out of my hands, and Katniss looks slightly less angry, but still upset. The only reason I can think of is because of Gale. Everyone says they're dating, after all. I pick out another piece of glass, not sure if it's the thought of Gale and Katniss together or the pain of the glass that makes my voice brusque, as I say, "She's just worried about her boyfriend."

She denies that they're dating, but her blush speaks volumes. Katniss Everdeen would hardly blush over anything.

"Whatever." I pick out more glass and flick it back to the floor. "I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it." Immediately I curse myself because I realize that the way I phrased that makes it sound like I think she's stupid. Even as I start to work up an apology, I'm reminded by my stinging hands that she just, essentially, pushed me into shattered glass. I just mutter, "Besides, _you_ didn't say you loved _me_, so what does it matter?"

I pick out even more glass, and I almost have it all before I look at Katniss again. I can tell by the way she looks now that she's not angry. She's even happy about the fact that I've made her "desirable." But I didn't really make her desirable; she's always been desirable. It's just a matter of the way people look at her. She apologizes, "I'm sorry I shoved you."

And I've already completely forgiven her. I say, "Doesn't matter," then I add on, teasing, "Although it's technically illegal."

She doesn't seem to realize I'm joking, however, then again when does she? Then she asks, "Are your hands okay?"

I really don't know. The blood hasn't slowed at all and even though I have picked all the glass out, I think, they're still in a lot of pain. But I don't want her to feel bad so I say, "They'll be all right."

No one notices how badly my hands are still bleeding as we head to dinner and I try to will the blood to stop to no avail. I sit at the table and as soon as I reach for a spoon to eat my soup with, the flexing in my hands causes the blood to flow more heavily, and it's dripping onto the white table cloth. Portia, who's sitting next to me, exclaims, "Peeta! You're still bleeding!"

This draws all the attention my way and I stand, trying to cup my bleeding hands around each other so I don't drip it on even more things. "Sorry," I mutter, "I'll go clean myself up."

Portia stands with me, "Come on, I'll take care of it,"

She leads me into a large bathroom that's right off the sitting room. She urges me to sit down and hold my hands over the sink as she rummages through the cabinets, emerging with white bandages and a tube of ointment. She's looking like I've never seen her before – angry. She runs the water, taking a hold of my hands and making sure she cuts get cleaned out, as she says, "I don't like that girl."

It takes me a moment before I realize she's talking about Katniss. "You don't even know her."

She turns my hands over, looking at the cuts, "Look what she did to you! It's illegal for tributes to harm each other, anyway, but the fact that she did this the very night before you'll be in the arena, _after you did something extremely helpful_ for her… it's terrible."

She shuts off the water and pats my hands dry with a cloth before she asks, "Why do you love her, Peeta?"

I say the first thing that comes to my mind, "Because the mockingjays stop and listen when she sings." There's more: how deeply she loves her family, how strong she is, how smart, her smile. But the mockingjay statement is what first made me give my heart to her.

Portia's hands pause as they clean up mine, and she says quietly, "That's a very lovely way to say something. You're a lovely boy."

As she rubs the ointment over the cuts, it stings and makes my hands turn an angry red, I think about how I could never get the courage to talk to Katniss before now, and how even when I do talk to her, I can't say anything right before I tell her, "I'm not that great."

As she starts to wrap the bandages around my hands, she looks at me somberly, with a sweet smile and says, "Yes, you are."

I'm not going to dispute it, so we're quiet for the few more minutes it takes for her to wrap my hands. I can't close them enough to make a fist, but I can flex them well enough. I smile, "Thank you."

She waves it off as we start back to the dining room, "Don't worry about it. Now, that ointment I put on will stave off infection, and it's going to burn… a lot. But that's because it's fast-healing. Your hands won't be completely healed by tomorrow morning, but they'll be able to close."

Then we're back in the dining room. It's hard for me to hold my spoons and forks properly, so halfway through the main course I just give up. I'm really not that hungry anyway. Instead, I just look at Katniss. I wonder if one day, possibly after the games end, she'll know that I was completely serious when I proclaimed my love. I wonder – hope, really – if maybe there's even just a teeny, tiny part of her that liked what I said in my interview.

Then we go to watch the recap of the interviews on the television, and the only part I want to see is the way Katniss responded to my proclamation. We go through all of the other interviews, but I'm not really paying attention, only tuning back in when Katniss is on screen. I'm struck by how incredibly young Katniss seems as she's twirling. Even when we were kids, she always had this serious look in her eye. And after her dad died, after she started hunting, she had this solemn look that just aged her. She's the only person I know who can be so innocent, yet mature at the same time.

Then we see my interview. I think I've done well, until I talk about Katniss. Her instant reaction to my statement crushes that little hope I had that she could possibly even like me, just a little. She's… horrified. Embarrassed, angry, and horrified. I'm so dumb, to even think that she would feel about me the way I do about her, especially thinking about how she shoved me. At least now I know I was right to never say anything to her back in District 12, where word would get out what a clueless loser I was. I'd have never lived it down with my brothers. Now, I don't have to worry about _living_ it down. I can't even bring myself to find my own joke amusing.

The program ends, and Katniss and I are left standing with Haymitch and Effie. This is the last time I'll ever see them. The crushing feeling in my chest makes me realize that in these past few days, I've come to care for them. Despite, maybe because of, their shortcomings, I've really thought of them as my friends. Like the four of us have formed a little unit. It seems that Effie thinks the same thing, as she's near tears when she tells us, "You are the best tributes I've ever had. I wouldn't be surprised at all if I actually get promoted to a decent district next year!" I choose to think that she's only saying that to stop from herself from crying. I know as well as Haymitch does that Effie will be stuck with District 12 for a long time.

As soon as she leaves, Haymitch steps forward. He doesn't get emotional like Effie did, but I don't expect him to. Haymitch, more than Effie, completes this unit. We're a trio. I don't know if they feel as sad as I do right now, but I hold in my emotions and I ask, "Any final words of advice?"

I listen closely as he tells us what are perhaps his most helpful words of the past week. He says, "When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. You're neither of you up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distant as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water." I repeat his words so they're a mantra in my head. Run. Distance. Water.

Then he tells us his gem of advice from the first day on the train, "Stay alive." The words don't make me angry as they did before, because this time he's serious. That is as real as someone can get with you before the Hunger Games. Stay alive.

Haymitch and Katniss are both gone quickly, and Portia takes my hand before I can follow them. Her eyes are huge and she just says, "Good luck. Listen to what Haymitch said."

I take her hand in mine, "Portia, we say goodbye tomorrow. Not yet."

She looks down, "I know, but I think I might be very emotional tomorrow, and I just wanted to make sure you remember me as not a blubbering mess."

I smile, "Don't worry. I'm going to remember you as a brilliant stylist. And a good friend."

This makes her smile back at me, then she gets a stern look on her face, "Well, get to bed. You need to be well rested for tomorrow."

I nod and then head down to my bedroom. But instead of going in, I veer off and walk toward the steps that lead to the roof. I don't even have to lay down to know I won't be getting much sleep tonight. I go to up and stand near the edge. There's a party going on down there tonight, outside of the Training Center. A party they host every year here in the Capitol. A party that lasts all night, until the gong sets us off. They stay up all night to celebrate our deaths.

I picture my mother's face. I remember the slight smiles she used to give, when myself or my brothers did something so undeniably funny that even she couldn't hold in her laughter. How I'll never get to see that happen again. My hands painfully tighten on the railing.

I think of Thyler, of how he and Hailey will go on to have kids and a full life together. Kids and a life that I'll never be a part of. My throat constricts.

I imagine Lucern. Regardless of the friends I made at school, the guys I hung out with, Lucern was always my best friend. He taught me how to tie my shoes. Granted, that was after he'd tied the laces of the shoes together and made me trip, but I got back at him by dismantling the caboose from his toy trains. We've always been together, me and him. Now, for a few days, there will be me, and after that, for years to come, there will be him. The back of my eyes burn.

I picture my father standing in the bakery, making bread. This is where he is most happy, most comfortable. This is where he taught me how to bake, where we've done all of our bonding over the years. It is this thought that breaks me. The tears come, faster and heavier than ever before.

Harsh sounds are ripped from my throat. Broken sounds, that just become worse when I think of how the only love I've ever had is for a girl that detests every word I say. The look on her face when she heard my declaration of love rules my thoughts. Good, I think. It's good that she doesn't love me back. That way she won't be tempted to throw off my plans of protecting her. But that thought does nothing to alleviate my tears.

I don't know how long it is, how long I've been standing here letting my sadness reign, before my well of tears has dried up. It feels like it's been hours. Maybe it has. Who knows? Who cares?

I wipe my nose on my sleeve, and have the off handed thought that Effie would be abhorred. It makes me give a watery laugh and I sniffle until I'm think clear again.

Katniss. Run. Water. Distance. Katniss. That's all that's important now. But is that really even a strategy? Will Katniss even let me stay close to her, close enough to help? Or will she kill me the second she discovers I'm right behind her?

Her voice behind me, "You should be getting more sleep." Makes me jump, but I don't turn around.

I make a stupid joke about not wanting to miss the Capitol's death party. She doesn't laugh, but doesn't get mad, either. I consider it a plus. She asks disdainfully, "Are they in costumes?"

"Who can tell?" Nonetheless, I lean over and try to zoom in on the individual people's clothes. They sure are strange, nothing I'd ever see at home, that's for certain. But with all the freakish things they wear here, who even knows what they consider "costumes." I say as much to Katniss. And because I really don't want to have what is probably going to be our last conversation focus on the Capitol, I ask, "Couldn't sleep, either?"

Her response of "couldn't turn my mind off" is something I'm familiar with. It never used to happen to me at home, but here it happens almost every night. I think of the hours I've just spent up here, sobbing because of her and my family. I ask, "Thinking about your family?" I know she's not thinking about me. Maybe I've become immune to thoughts like that, as instead of the misery her ignorance to me usually brings on, I just have a bad feeling in my stomach.

But she says, "No," she's not worrying about her family, she explains, "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." A legitimate concern. Then she apologizes for my hands.

How does she still not have a clue? Throughout training, I've already been trying to help her. The damage of my hands for the Games is just going to hurt her more. But even if she doesn't know me, I know her a lot better than she thinks. So I know better than to say anything about my plan. I just say, "It doesn't matter, Katniss. I've never been a contender in these games anyway."

It surprises me and makes me feel better when she chides me, "That's no way to be thinking." She does care, even if just a little. She does.

It's that thought propelling me forward and I tell her about how I want to die as myself. I'm not telling her about my plan of protecting her, but it's something. I just want her to understand, that we don't have to be just a piece in the games. Just a player for the Capitol to manipulate. We can still be ourselves, if only we do small gestures of retaining our character. Like my dying to protect Katniss. I'm not giving in to just being a monster, forgetting who I really am in that arena. I'm going to die, and I'm going to do it as the real Peeta Mellark.

I try to convey this to Katniss, try to make her understand where I'm coming from. But no matter what I'm saying, she just keeps looking at me like I'm crazy. How can she not see? We do have a choice in how far we let the Capitol rule our lives. My frustration builds the more it becomes apparent that she has no idea where I'm coming from. It becomes flat out anger when she says, "No offense, but who cares, Peeta?"

_I _care! I'm going off to die tomorrow, and my only strategy has been to figure out how to remain myself. The only way to do that in there is to protect her, the girl I love who doesn't love me. I'm shaking in my anger, by the time I say, "What else am I allowed to care about at this point?"

She steps away from me. For once, I'm the angry one here. She tells, " Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive."

Does survival even matter if you lose who you are along the way? Are you still even really alive? Where is the line drawn between being alive and really living? I guess it's these thoughts that separate the survivors from the non-survivors. I just hope at the end, Katniss doesn't stop being the girl I'm in love with. Her words repeat in my head, care about staying alive. Why doesn't she see the line between just surviving and living life? My misery is back and for once I'd rather have her go away that be here with me. I give her a fake smile, "Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart."

I can tell she's mad now, too. She looks like I slapped her, or kind of like I pushed her into shattered glass. Then she tells me, "Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your day planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District 12."

I want you to, too. We're on the same page there. I don't even know what words are coming out of my mouth, but they're driving her even farther away. She leaves the roof. It's good that she doesn't like me now, right before the arena. She'll have no qualms about killing me there.

That altercation makes me sure of something: she's definitely not going to welcome me following her around in the arena. She's not going to realize I'm trying to help her not harm her. She'll kill me before she becomes my ally, especially after what just happened. So I need a new plan.

Katniss will definitely be following Haymitch's advice, getting away from the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Hopefully. Which is good. But if I'm doing the same thing, running off by myself, away from her, how do I keep her safe? It dawns on me: I don't. I stay at the blood bath. I go for the Cornucopia and fight. If I can, I make allies. But who?

I think of my fellow tributes. I can't do my job of helping Katniss if I'm with people who are weaker than myself. I don't see Thresh teaming up with anyone. That leaves the Careers. But how do I get in with them? They already have their group. They only let people join them who have something they want. I have nothing to offer, only my strength, and they already have Cato for that.

This plays in my mind for another hour or two as I stand on the roof. I'm still not tired. But I'm not getting anywhere with this, and I really should try to get at least some sleep before tomorrow. I give the crowd below one last look, then go down to my room and lie down.

I guess I was more tired than I thought, as the next thing I know, it's just before dawn and Portia is in my room. She dresses me in a comfortable shirt and pants before bringing me to the roof. I climb into a waiting hovercraft, and I'm stuck on the ladder as a woman inserts a tracker deep into my arm. I grit my teeth against the pain, then wait as Portia enters as well.

We go to a room in silence where there's a breakfast feast set out for us. I don't think I can stomach most of this rich food today. Nerves eat away at me, and it's all I can do to stuff myself with rolls. Bread, it turns out, is my ultimate comfort food. When I'm done I sit back in my chair and wonder how Katniss is. Dear god, just let her get out of the blood bath quickly. Make sure she lives past the first few days, so she really has a fighting chance.

These thoughts begin me back to the problem I had last night. As Portia dresses me in my Games outfit, she is uncharacteristically silent, until she asks me, "What's on your mind?"

I tell her about how I want to get in with the Careers, but I don't know how. "I'm good at hand-to-hand combat, and lifting heavy things. Not only are those not even very helpful in the arena in general, they have Cato, who's bigger and stronger than I am. I have nothing they want."

Portia brushes my hair out of my eyes and steps back, her face deep in thought, as she says, "You… have Katniss."

That's a laugh. "I don't have Katniss. She doesn't want me. That's why I need to ally with the Careers."

She takes my hands in hers, her eyes glowing with excitement, "But _they_ don't know that. As far as they're concerned, Katniss loves you just as you love her. And Katniss is their biggest threat – she got the highest score out of everyone from the Gamemakers. They're going to need help trying to get her."

My confusion has to be palpable, and I say, "Portia, I want to _protect_ Katniss, not give her up to the Careers."

She shakes her head, like I'm being dense, "No, Peeta, give them false clues about where you think Katniss would be. If she's likely to be hiding somewhere on the ground, tell them to look in the trees. You know? Do you see?"

Now it dawns on me, "You're a genius, Portia, you really are. Thank you. For everything. Your costumes, your advice. For bandaging my hands. Just… for being my friend." I smile at her, even though the sadness is back. I wish I could continue being Portia's friend. I wish I could be able to see her again. But it's just not possible.

Her eyes tear up and she throws her arms around me, "I'm going to miss you, Peeta. No matter who I have for a contestant next year or in the years to come, you'll always be my favorite."

I hug her back, and as soon as we separate, a glass cylinder is coming down around me. I try to kill the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, as I'm raised onto my metal plate. The sunlight is startling, and even as I try to blink it out of my eyes, I'm trying to look around for Katniss.

Even before my vision is back to normal, Claudius Templesmith's voice booms around me, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

**Dun dun dun! What will come next? Who knows? Actually, we all know. But... still. Thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing! Reviews make me a happy little camper!**

**My SYOT story is still open if you'd like to submit a tribute for two, just so you know!  
**


	11. First Night

I'm perched on the edge of my plate, just staring at Katniss. Willing her to look at me. I _know_ she's going to want to go after the bow and set of arrows at is in the Cornucopia. But she can't. the Career's are always up for a slaughter during the bloodbath, and my stomach is in knots thinking about what could happen if Katniss is caught in the center of it.

Finally, she looks at me, and I catch her eye, shaking my head. I hope she gets the message that I'm trying to convey. Run. Water. Distance. Right behind her are the woods. I'm trying to tell her without actually telling her to go in them. I think she gets the message. I hope she does.

Then the gong is going, and I stand still for a moment, then I see Katniss heading for the Cornucopia. "Katniss, don't!" But my words are lost on her. I'm frozen in place when I see her struggle over a backpack. Then she wins, because the boy dies and then I'm relieved when Katniss makes a break for the woods. Thank god. Now I push her out of my head, and survey the Cornucopia. That sly looking girl from District 5 has hit it, taken something and is gone before the others even reach the gold horn. Thresh didn't even bother; he just ran right off the edge, jumping into grass that's as high as my shoulders.

I take a deep breath and run over to the Cornucopia. I can hear Haymitch's voice in my head, screaming "what are you doing?" but I don't let it stop me. There is no way the Careers will even consider letting me in their group if I can't prove myself. So I dive right into the thick of things. There are two girls already dead when I reach the group.

Someone has a hold of my leg and twists it. I fall to the ground, panic rises in me. No, I can't die yet. No, no, "No!" The word is wrenched from my throat and I kick my leg out from whoever it was' grasp. Still lying on the ground, I look to my left and spot a knife. I pick it up and tuck it into my jacket before someone pounces on top of me. It's the girl from District 2. The vicious looking one.

"You got one of my knives, Lover Boy?" She has one in her hand now, ready to drive into me. As she makes her move, I make mine. She starts to thrust her knife downward, aiming for my heart and I twist my torso out of the way just in time. Her knife drives into the ground, and I grab her by the shoulders, by feet rearing up as well, and with the combined effort, I throw her off of me.

Before I stand, I take hold of her second knife and pocket that one as well. There are more dead now, and the fighting continues. I'm attacked again, this time by the boy from District 4. He has no weapons on him, and is just hitting me with his hands. My face takes the first two blows, before I manage to lock one of his fists in my hand, and loop my foot around his ankle making him fall to the ground. As he starts to get back up, he's stopped. By a knife right into his neck.

I look up to see the girl from District 2 that I just fought off, looking satisfied. She's then attacked from behind by the girl from District 9. All of the Careers, save for that one boy who was just killed, are all alive. Five of them, and there are five other's still fighting them. It's all one-on-one combat. It won't be long at all before the Careers kill their opponents. Then they'll all turn on me.

I have to get out of here. Fast.

As soon as I put pressure on my right foot, the one District 2 girl, Clove I think her name is, twisted, pains sings up my leg. Damn it. Limping as quickly as I can to the mouth of the horn, I grab whatever I see that I can carry away quickly. I take a first-aid kit and a tent kit, then I set off. I go into the woods, making my way over to the lake with the thick brush cover.

The Career's will be over here soon enough. They'll set up a real camp, because that's what they always do. I get to work quickly, opening the tent kit. I take the rope it gives and quickly make the trap Katniss and I spent an hour learning. There's a large tree right at the top of a small incline. I place the tent and first-aid kits in the incline, and set up the trap on a large branch protruding out into the woods, opposite of the incline where I'll be sitting.

I'll just have to wait for the Careers to come get water, one of them will step in my trap, and I'll take it from there. I can think on my feet. I settle down into the incline to wait. As I cup water to bring to my mouth, I think about Katniss. I can imagine her running through the woods – she's quick and agile, and I have no doubt that she's fine right now. I can't let myself think any other way.

I lean back and picture her. I've gotten to know her in the past week. It's taken her from being my crush, my unattainable fantasy, to someone I know. I've made her laugh, kept her entertained, made her angry. The thought occurs to me that I haven't yet seen her hair down. I wonder why she always keeps it in a braid. It is easier to manage that way, rather than in a ponytail?

My shoulders relax and the relatively sleepless night I had last night is coming back to haunt me. My eyelids start to droop. I tell myself that I'll wake up to someone being caught in the trap is anyone comes near me. And if anyone does come to get something to drink and I don't wake up, this incline I'm in will hide me from anyone who's on ground level. So I should be fine.

The next time I open my eyes, the sun is going down.

I look above me at the trees, wondering if Katniss is up there and safe already. If she's not yet, she should be soon. The sun is going down, and these woods could be, probably are, dangerous at night. There's a sound overheard, branches moving. What is it? Some kind of mutt? Just the wind? But, really, nothing is ever just the wind here in the arena. I push myself up and look around.

Then I spot her. Little Rue, hopping from branch to branch, running away from me. A smile plays on my lips and I whisper, "Good for you."

Then there are the cannons. I listen to them, counting. Eleven total. There's the five who were fighting the five remaining Careers who died. The two girls who were already dead by the time I reached them. The District 4 boy who I watched die. That's eight. I assume the three others were killed at the Cornucopia as well. That's eleven dead. That leaves the Careers from 1 and 2, and the girl from 4. I saw Thresh take off, so I know he's alive, and I just saw Rue. Then there's myself and Katniss. So that's… nine out of the thirteen left. Oh, the sly redhead. Ten. I wonder who the other three are that I'm forgetting.

There's the crunch of leaves behind me, and I hear voices. My muscles tense and I strain to listen. I make out Clove's voice clear as day from our fight earlier. "But how are we going to find that girl with the eleven?"

I release a breath I didn't know I was holding when I know that this means they haven't found Katniss. I hear a man start to respond when he breaks off into a swear, and I hear the rope I use to set my trap creak as it hauls him into the air. It worked! I jump up out of my incline, pick up a sword that this guy must have dropped and have one of my knives out before Clove has even registered what happened.

Panic sets in. What am I doing with all of these weapons? This isn't me. A voice from the back of my head tells me to do what I have to do. So I hold the sword at the man's throat, and have my knife poised to throw at Clove just as she draws one of her to throw at me. "You throw that and I guarantee he'll be dead and I'll throw mine back at you before I go down."

She scowls, but holds her weapon. Then the guy whose throat I have a sword pressed to growls, "Let me go, Lover Boy."

I give him a double take. It's Cato. _I_ trapped Cato. "Not until you hear my proposition."

I see Clove move out of the corner of my eye, and for the second time today, I sidestep her knife just in time for it to miss something vital, and it nicks my arm. The pain is terrible, but I'll live. I think my reflexes have slightly impressed her, because she doesn't immediately draw another knife. But as she reaches, I throw my knife, and it catches her sleeve, jerking her hand back. This actually does impress her, and she looks at me speculatively, "What do you have to say?"

Cato is twisting now, but not too fiercely, as I still have his sword pressed to his throat. His teeth are gritted as he says, "You had better have something to say about cutting me down. If you think you're going to kill me like this you have another thing coming."

"I want to join you guys." When they both snort, I tighten my grip on the sword and the edge digs in to Cato's neck. "I'm handy with traps. I can throw knives." I nod toward Clove, "I bested you earlier at the Cornucopia." I hope to god this last part works, "And I can help you find Katniss."

This gives them both pause. If they wouldn't be able to see it, I'd cross my fingers. This is my best hope to help Katniss. Please work. They seem to communicate without speaking to me, as Clove puts away her latest knife, and Cato says, "It's a deal. If you cut me down. And if you try to turn on us when our backs are turned, you won't get two steps before you're dead. Now cut. Me. Down."

I do so with his sword and relief courses through me. I'm in. They walk to the water's edge and start filling up bottles. I guess they got those at the Cornucopia. They have several of them, one for each member of their group. As they fill up the water, I tug the rope down from the tree, grab my first-aid kit and the tent and stand with them. Clove tosses a water bottle to me, "It's yours. We had an extra."

I catch it and think about how Katniss hasn't been to get water today. Claws of worry start in my stomach, but I try to tell myself that maybe she found a different water source. After their water bottles are filled they turn and start walking in the direction they came in. I follow. No one speaks for a few minutes, then Cato looks at me and says, "When I say it's time, you're done with us."

Somehow I doubt he means that he'll cut me loose to fend for myself in the woods. I think he means something more along the lines of me bleeding on the forest floor. If I can help Katniss for however long I'm with them, it's worth it. I nod, "Understood."

Night falls around us as we reach somewhat of a clearing. The three they've left behind – the tributes from District 1 and the girl from 4 – have been setting up their camp. They have all of the food from the Cornucopia stocked on one side, and they're setting up little campsites around it. The girl from District 4 sees me and asks Cato, "What is he doing here?"

Neither Clove nor Cato say that I managed to trap him, and avoid being hit with her knife. All they say is, "He's going to help us find his girl."

The District 1 boy, Marvel, scoffs and crosses his arms, "Oh, really? Why would Lover Boy just agree to give up the girl "he's liked since he could remember?""

My heart beats faster. I hadn't counted on them asking me about this. I hadn't even planned an answer. When all of their faces turn to me for an explanation, I find that I don't even have to lie, "Because she doesn't love me back."

This causes them to laugh, and my heart feels like it's being squeezed by the trueness of the words. I've never spoken them aloud before. But it still doesn't make me feel any better. I leave them to their laughter, and start to set up my tent. Because it's Capitol-made, it takes hardly longer than five minutes to do, before I crawl inside and sit down. They're moving around out there, no longer laughing, but not talking to each other, either.

I can see the fire they have going from my seat in my tent. Soon, the anthem plays, and I shift so that I can see the sky while still sitting in the tent. They display the faces of those who are dead. I already knew Districts 1 and 2 both survived. Now I know that the boy from District 3 is out there still and so are the two tributes from 10.

It's not long after that my new allies go to bed in their own prospective places. Due to my nap, I'm not tired. So I sit with my knees drawn up, my arms around them. Just thinking. What's my next step? Do I jump right in with my 'information' about Katniss or do I wait until they ask? What do I plan on telling them?

As I compose a list of lies about Katniss to tell the Careers, I look out at the trees and wonder where she is. She's still alive, thank god, but where? I think of the picture I painted the day we began training. Her sitting up in a tree, eating squirrels. I hope it's true.

I refuse to let myself think about my family. I can't go there. If I cry, show any sign of weakness in front of these people I'm going to be killed even quicker than they already intend. I need to be tough. Tough like Katniss-tough.

Footsteps are coming near my tent, and I've just drawn out a knife thinking Cato's already come for me, when the District 1 girl appears. I think her name is Glitter. I give her a questioning look, "Yes?"

"I'm Glimmer."

Even after today, the time she's spent fighting, she's still incredibly sexy. That was the angle they played up for her during her interview with Caesar. "I'm Peeta."

She smiles then invites herself inside my tent to sit down, "You're bleeding."

My eyebrows draw together and I look down at where she's looking my arm is bleeding. From where Clove's knife cut me. I forgot. "Oh, right. Thanks." I open the first aid kit, and dig through it, taking out the bandages and antiseptic.

She sits with me, watching me bandage it, a confused look on her face. I've seen this look on her face a lot. When I'm all bandaged up, she suddenly says, "I thought it was really nice, what you said about that girl in your interview."

I feel the blush heat up my face and I look away from her, "Well, that interview doesn't really matter, now does it?"

"Hmm. No." Then she says, "Well, Cato and Clove wanted me to come in here and tell you that we're all going out hunting soon. They think they saw someone light a fire. Everyone's getting ready."

She leads me out of the tent, where the four others are all preparing. Glimmer disappears for a moment and returns with a bow and arrow. _Katniss_' bow and arrow. I glare it her for a moment before smoothing my features back to indifference. Clove's weapon of choice is, obviously, her knives. Cato's is his sword. Glimmer has Katniss' arrows. Marvel has a spear. And I have my few knives.

The girl from District 4, they call her Gennie, is staying behind to watch the food supply. Cato and Clove slip on some sort of sun glasses, night-vision ones Glimmer informs me, and we start out into the woods. We're moving quickly, and I see the trail they're taking. Someone has set a fire in the woods, and we're following the smoke. I hope to god it wasn't Katniss, but then I realize she wouldn't be so careless.

I'm right behind Cato and Clove when we see come across the small campsite this tribute has made. It's the girl from District 8, and she has no chance to survive now. She's not even awake. Cato is the one who walks right up to her, and his excitement makes me sick. _Kill her while she sleeps_, I think. Just let her not know it's coming. I think it'll be easier that way.

I wish I could turn away, because asleep or not, I don't want to see this poor girl die. She's so small. Smaller than Katniss, even. It turns out Cato isn't the mercy giving kind, as he kicks the girl awake. She takes in what's happening, looking at the five of us before saying, "No! Please, don't! Not –"

She's cut off because Cato slices her in the neck. Not enough to kill her straight away, but he does it in a place that makes blood start spurting powerfully from, instantly. She lets out an agonized scream that cuts me right to the core. Cato's in this to win, but he doesn't have to me so sadistic about this. Wouldn't the girl have been just as dead if he did it quick and easy?

She's too weak to continue screaming, and even though her blood is still spurting out of her, she falls to the ground, still twitching, but Cato says she's as good as dead. They all start cheering, and there's several, "Good job, Cato! First real kill of the Games!" going around.

First real kill? The people who didn't survive the bloodbath don't count? Their lives aren't worthy enough to count as a real kill? These people, not just Cato, sicken me. The girl twitching on the ground, saddens me. She's still breathing, not even given the reprieve of death, and they're already celebrating the end of her life.

I clear my throat, "Let's get a move on."

Now I take the front as I randomly pick a direction and keep walking in it. I need to get away from that girl. The rest fall in line behind me, after they've rooted through the girl's things. I lead them until we reach a clearing, and we all stop. There's still been no cannon. That poor girl is still alive. Apparently they know why I've stopped. Glimmer says, "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

Clove says, "I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

The dissent in this group is clear as Marvel looks underhandedly at Cato and says, "Unless she's not dead."

Cato is immediately put on the defense, "She's dead. I stuck her myself."

Marvel crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, "Then where's the cannon?"

Glimmer bites on her nail, "Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done."

Marvel, still glaring at Cato, mutters, "Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice."

Cato's anger seems to make him into a madman, and he screams, "I said she's dead!"

It's clear that Marvel and Cato have had a power play, probably several, in the past. And Cato is the victor. They start circling each other, throwing words out that I don't really catch. Clove steps in and shoves Marvel – it's clear whose side she's on. Before they start drawing weapons on each other, I say, "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

Because I really don't want to be a bystander in another death.

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**Wawie wa wa. I appreciate you're reading, and I'd love to hear your feedback in a review!**


	12. First Real Day

Cato snarls at me. He's the leader in this group and he doesn't like other people to question that authority. "Go on, then, Lover Boy. See for yourself."

I take one of the torches that Clove has been carrying, and walk away without looking back at them. The closer I get to the small campsite the District 8 girl was in, the heavier my footsteps get. She is still alive. When I get close enough to see her fire that is still burning, I want to just stop and wait for nature to take its course. After she'd lost that much blood, she can't live for much longer. Can she?

As I walk even closer, I see her body. She is no longer twitching. I think she's dead, but as I move closer I can hear her shallow gasps for breath. Each one is like a blow to my heart. Each one makes me hate Cato, the Careers, these games, the Capitol even more. What did this girl ever do to deserve to die?

She sees me and flinches, closing her eyes tight. I kneel down next to her, "I'm not going to hurt you."

I can tell she's not going to last that much longer, so I take her hand in mine and stroke my other one through her hair, "Everything's going to be fine. Soon, you won't be in anymore pain."

Her hand tightens slightly on mine, holding on. I remember seeing her at the knot tying station in the Training Center. She was there frequently, so I assume she mastered a lot of them that Katniss and I didn't in our brief time there. "You were the girl at the knot station. I remember you. I bet you could out tie everyone in these games. The most I can do is tie my shoes." This gets a smile from her. Actually, it's a lip twitch, and even that seems to put a lot of strain on her.

Her gasps are becoming more frequent and less shallow. Her eyes are panicking, fluttering over me, around to the tree above, then back to me again. Air is harder for me to take in as well, and soon her gasps stop, and the clog in my throat gives way to tears. Her eyes, though lifeless, are still open. Open, but not seeing. My hand is crusted in her blood as I reach up and close her eyes.

With a deep breath, I stand. No weakness. Her death was bound to happen if I want to send Katniss home, anyway. Everyone here's is. I wipe my eyes then my nose with my sleeve, and go back to where I left the others. They're standing there waiting for me in the same silence I left them in.

Cato gives me a dirty look, "Was she dead?"

My voice is impossibly dull as I say, "No. But she is now." When I bring myself to meet his eyes, I know that I've never disliked anyone as much as I do him. He _wanted_ that girl to die slowly. Painfully. Gasping for her last breath. I'm about to shift my gaze skyward to check the time of day – surely the sun is going to come up soon. About halfway up, I see something in a tree. It's not naturally supposed to be there. I can't make out specifically who it belongs to, but I'm certain it's either little tree hopping Rue or Katniss. And while my purpose is to see Katniss win, I don't think I could stand by with Rue gets killed. So I say, "Ready to move on?" Just to get them out of here and away from killing someone else.

They all nod, and Cato says, "Back to camp."

We all take off in that direction. I resist the urge to look back at the tree, even though I want to. But even though I'm in the back of the group, what if someone looks back at me and sees what I'm looking at? I hurry along with them. It's not a long time before we arrive back at camp, and Cato is flipping out before anyone else even knows what about.

"Gennie!" He's screaming at us. "She left our supplies here, unguarded!"

I don't even have this processed before he's in a rage, stomping over to the huge supplies pile. I look around, trying to spot her, trying to listen for anything out of the ordinary. Gennie's a Career; she wouldn't just leave everything unguarded. I'm convinced someone found our camp and attacked her until she comes running out from one of the tents, screaming, "Cato! Stop!"

Cato stops in his tracks, draws his sword, and spins toward her, "What? You want to tell me why you left the guard? Anyone could have come by and stolen our supplies! What's wrong with you?"

As he advances toward her, sword at the ready, she starts scrambling backwards. No. I don't want to see another person die, especially not at Cato's hand. I run forward, "Wait! Cato, think about it. She probably has a reason for doing it. Plus, all the supplies is still here."

He doesn't put down his sword, but he stops moving forward, "Well? Do you have a good reason for leaving everything unguarded?"

Gennie readily nods, and wordlessly points to the left. There, with a self-satisfied grin on his face, stands the male tribute from District 3. Before Cato can run toward him, Gennie says, "He rigged all of the mines below ground to blow up around our food. They're pressure activated… if you kill him, you kill our food supply."

It's clear that Cato really doesn't want to lower his sword, but he does. "How do we know he's not lying?"

Gennie points to a place that's been blown to bits yards away from our camp, "He did that one, too. All we did was throw a rock on it, and it blew."

It dawns on Cato, all of us, really, that we have no choice but to accept this boy into the group of allies. Cato stalks off into his tent. I don't think he, nor the others have gotten any sleep since the night before we came here. As Marvel walks by me, he slams his shoulder into mine, which makes the pain I have in my arm from the slice of Cloves knife resonate from shoulder to wrist. I reach up and rub it, deciding that I don't particularly want to follow their suit and go into my tent. I' m not very tired, but I am hungry.

I eye the food supply, then walk over to the District 3 tribute. I don't remember what his name is. I think it's something like Fitch. As I draw closer, I see that while he was wearing that self-important grin when he was yards away, he's shaking like a leaf and he has very little color in his cheeks. I assume this is because Cato nearly charged at him. It's understandable.

I hold my hand out to him, "I'm Peeta."

He manages to get a hold of himself and says, "Fitch." Before he inspects my hand to make sure I'm not trying to trick him.

Fitch, I was right. As we shake hands, I ask, "Think you could help me get some food out of the pile?"

We walk over to it, and Fitch takes very precise, measured little steps toward the food pile. He returns with a loaf of bread and some dried meat. We split it up and I offer him some of my water. He watches me eat suspiciously before he eats his own, then asks, "How did you get in with them?"

I chew slowly, deliberately, before answering, "I have my ways, just like you have yours."

He gives me a doubtful look, but doesn't say anything. I'm sure he's thinking about how his ways involve setting off complicated electronics, something he was brought up learning to do, whereas I was brought up learning to make bread. But he doesn't say anything. After we finish the food I stand, and gesture to the tents, "That one's mine. You can share, if you want. I'll agree not to kill you in your sleep if you agree not to kill me in mine."

He looks suspicious again, but narrows his eyes, "Sure." And he follows me cautiously into the tent.

When we get in there, I start to redress the bandage on my arm, as it's completely soaked through by now. Fitch asks, "How'd you get that?"

I grimace at the pain as I tightly pull the fresh bandage around my arm, "Clove. She's a hell of a knife thrower."

Fitch looks at me less suspiciously now, and says, "You know, I thought for sure you'd be teamed up with that girl, Cat Piss."

I narrow my eyes at him, "It's Katniss." When he shrugs, I say, "She didn't want to team up with me."

With a yawn he lays down, "I was supposed to team up with Sari." I assume he's talking about the girl who died in the blood bath from District 3. He continues, "I told her not to go for the Cornucopia, but she didn't listen. After I saw her picture in the sky, I knew I had to do something so that I wasn't on my own here."

He looks at me, waiting for me to reply, but I really have nothing to say. So I just tell him, "Something similar happened like that for me."

He yawns again, but clearly doesn't want to close his eyes. He looks at me warily, "You really mean what you said? No killing each other? At least, for now?"

For now? With Cato around, I doubt we have to worry about killing each other, period. "Yeah, I mean it." I'm still sitting near the mouth of the tent when I hear him start to snore. It's almost as loud as Lucern's is back at home.

The sun is growing brighter now, but the tent is perfectly temperate. I think that's one of its purposes. I wonder where Katniss is. I haven't heard any cannons go off today, so that's a good sign. But part of me can't help but worry. What if she's injured? Like that girl from District 8, bleeding and hurt, just suffering through gasp after gasp.

I bury my head in my hands. What if what I'm doing isn't enough? What if no matter what I do, she still dies? Even worse than just dying, what if Cato gets to her? I _can't_ let that happen. It's more than just making sure I die as myself – it's making sure I die while keeping Katniss out of harm's way.

I sit in the mouth of the tent all day. I do nothing, just looking. It's sundown, and Cato and the others are still sleeping when Fitch stirs. The first thing he asks when he sits up is if any of the cannons went off. I shake my head, "Nope, there's been nothing. Something doesn't feel right. Everything is a little too quiet, you know?"

He nods, "So there's thirteen of us left?"

I shake my head again, "Twelve." When he gives me a questioning look, I list off, "Me, you, Cato, Clove, Glimmer, Marvel, Gennie, Katniss, Rue, Thresh, the girl from 5, and the boy from 10."

"Thresh is the giant, right? From 11?" When I nod, he shakes his head, "I wouldn't want to be snuck up on by him out in those woods."

I remember where he ran at the Cornucopia, "No, he's out in this field, off the edge of the Cornucopia."

Fitch nods, and then we heard the sounds of everyone else waking up. We leave our tent and go out to join them to eat. Midway through the meal, it's already dark. I finish my share of the food and see something strange in the distance. It looks like a big, burning curtain of fire burning through the woods.

"What is that?" I ask the others.

Cato is the one who answers, "No deaths today. The Gamemakers will want to drive people from the woods into us."

The fire seems to follow a certain pattern, cutting through one spot in favor of another. It looks like it's tracing someone's steps. It's a roaring inferno and all of us are transfixed. Cato looks away first, "Doesn't look like it's coming toward camp, so that's good."

The rest agree with him and start to go about their original business. But I'm glued to the spot, my ears straining to hear a cannon as I can feel my heart beat faster as I whisper, "Katniss."

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**Dun dun dun... **

**Review and tell me what you think! Thanks for reading!  
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	13. Smoke

My feet are seemingly unhinged from the ground and before I can think about it I'm running toward the flames. I know Katniss is in there, and what if she was up in a tree and didn't get out in time? She could need my help. I've almost reached the trees when someone catches me and brings me to the ground. I thrash around, and try to gain the upper hand, but whoever it is is sitting on my back, holding my arms down and I'm lying face down on the ground,

It's Fitch's voice that yells at me as I try to free myself, "Peeta, what the hell are you doing?"

My breath is laboring and I'm staring at the fire, as tears blur my vision, "Katniss is in there. She might need me." I'm certain no one could survive that fire, not even the girl on fire, and my voice cracks as one of the large trees in the forest falls.

Fitch doesn't move, "Hey, calm down okay? Both of you can't win this thing anyway. Plus, the Gamemakers rarely kill contestants."

All of the fight leaves me and I lay like a ragdoll on the ground as the fire starts to die down. Fitch tries to tell me that there was no cannon, which is a good sign, but the fire was roaring; we could have missed the sound of a cannon firing.

I failed. I entered this arena with one goal in mind: to help Katniss. And I haven't even done a thing. I rest my cheek on the dirt, Fitch still sitting on top of me. Even when he shifts off, I don't move. The only thing that makes me raise my head is when Fitch says, "What the…"

So I look in the direction that he's looking in. A gust of wind blows toward us. This is no natural gust of wind – this is Gamemaker designed. It seems as though it gathers all the smoke that forest fire has just created. It forms a tall, wide, tornado of pitch black smoke.

And it's tunneling straight for our camp. If Fitch tackling me didn't get the Career's attention, this smoke wind certainly doesn't. Fitch grabs my hand and hauls me up, "Come on!"

We're running, and as we go past them they look what we're running from and follow us. It's not long before I'm feet behind the rest of the group. My bones all feel like jelly, unable to properly hold me up. I make myself keep running simply because I don't want to die by smoke inhalation. I imagine that's a slower, more painful death than anything given by Cato's sword. But I think I might ask Fitch to do me in when we're out of this mess. Because a life without Katniss, be it in this arena or in District 12, is really no life at all.

No matter how fast we run, we can't outrun this smoke. It's on my heels, then invading my lungs. It quickly engulfs the lot of us, and all I can see is black. I'm running blindly forward, my eyes watering, and I pull my shirt up above my nose and mouth to see if it'll help me breathe more clearly. It does, but just barely. It doesn't make my coughing any less frequent of intense.

Up ahead I hear splashing, and I know that we must've reached the lake. By the time my feet hit the water, I'm choking, barely pulling in air, and my heart is pounding so fast and loud that it's all I hear.

As if flipped by a switch, the smoke disappears, and I fall to my knees. The bottom of my pants is now soaked, but it feels good compared to the heat the smoke was bringing. I crawl to the very edge and brace my hands on the bank of land, just managing to steady myself before I throw up. It's black, and I can't bear to look at it.

My vision is still blurry, and I splash water into my eyes. When I open them, the world is clear again. I take more water and splash it on my face, scrubbing off soot. I reach up and brush my hands through my hair, watching the soot and ash fall from it. Then I reach down and gulp as much water as I can.

After I've done all that, I become aware of everyone else. When I look up, I see that the other five are all looking as bad as I must, and all of our breathing is loud and raspy. After a few minutes, Cato stands. His voice is hoarse as he says, "Come on. The fact that they've stopped it means we're near someone."

Clove is second to follow his lead, "Let's go before they get away!"

Gennie, Glimmer, and Marvel follow them immediately, as I slowly force myself to stand. Fitch is still breathing deeply and I hold out my hand to him. He takes it and I pull him up. While we wade through the water, following the Career's I ask, "Why'd you stop me from going into the woods?"

He looks at me like I'm crazy, "You were heading straight for fire. It seemed like the natural thing to do." He lowers his voice and says, "You're the only one I trust out of all of them. The question is why were you running right for it? I thought you and your girl were done."

"We're not done, because we never started. And I didn't say we were done. I said she's not on my team in all of this. It doesn't mean I'm not on hers." I don't realize what I've just said until it's done. Hopefully, he doesn't put it together that this means I'm working on Katniss' side and not the Careers'.

He doesn't. But he does think I'm crazy, I can tell by the look he gives me, "Whatever, man."

Which reminds me. Katniss. The fire. It feels like my heart is in the slow, torturous process of being ripped from my chest as we hear footsteps up ahead. Running away from us. It's Clove's voice, trying to yell and interrupted by coughing fits that says, "It's eleven!"

And all of the sudden my heart is healed. She's been referring to Katniss as 'eleven' since yesterday. Katniss made it out of the fire. _She's a survivor that one_ runs on a loop through my head and I force myself to move faster. I pass Fitch, Marvel, Gennie, Glimmer, Clove, and am neck and neck with Cato when I catch sight of Katniss.

We follow her through the brush of the trees, and I urge her to go faster with my mind, even as I shove as hard as I can into Cato with my shoulder, trying to throw him off balance. But I didn't account for his whole size, and sheer bloodlust, as he hardly moves an inch. He doesn't even seem to notice what I tried to do. He's like a wolf who has gotten the smell of its prey. He will not be distracted.

I'm relieved that by the time we reach Katniss, she's scurried almost forty or fifty feet up a tree. And she keeps going. If we'd caught up with her, I wouldn't have hesitated to throw myself in front of his sword's blade before it hit Katniss, but I doubt even that would have stopped him. At least, for now, Katniss is safe.

I try to catch my breath, but with the relief and adrenaline coursing through me, it's a wonder I haven't fainted from it. I know that Katniss and Cato are exchanging mock-pleasant greetings, but I can't make out what they are with the blood rushing in my ears. I'm smiling ear to ear, and I don't want the Career's to see, so I duck my head and wipe down my knife.

I look up just in time to see Cato fall from the tree that I guess he was trying to climb to get up to Katniss, and land on his back, swearing. A laugh escapes my throat and I quickly cover it up with a cough. It doesn't matter, though, because everyone is focused on Katniss, not on me. Glimmer then volunteers to go up and get Katniss, but that doesn't even make me bat an eye. Whether or not Glimmer is armed, she's not making it as far up that tree as Katniss did. And if she did, I'm confident that Katniss could win in a fight.

I'm proven right, though, as Glimmer only makes it about halfway up before she can't go any farther. When she tries to shoot up an arrow at Katniss, I hold my breath, but it's let out in a relieved sigh when I see that she is as inept with a bow as I am, possibly even more so.

When Glimmer climbs back down I'm drawn into a group with them. Cato is rubbing his hands together, "Oh, she thinks this is so funny. Wait till I get my hands on her."

The gleam in his eyes is genuinely frightening and I hope that no matter what happens in these games, please don't let Katniss get caught in his hands. Clove says, doubtfully, "I could try to throw a knife up at her."

I speak up, "You'd never make it that high."

When she starts to snap back at me, Cato cuts her off, "He's right, Clove. But what can we do?"

They start throwing out preposterous ideas, laughably ridiculous ones. Marvel wants to try to hack the tree down with his spear. After a few minutes I say, "Oh, let her stay up there. She's not going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning." I make sure I'm loud enough for her to hear, so she knows that she has until tomorrow to get away.

I have no idea what her plan is or how she's going to implement it, but if all else fails, when she comes down, I'll try to fight off Cato while she runs. We set up a little base camp here, and it's while we're doing this that I realize Fitch isn't here. I ask Glimmer what happened to him.

"He started really choking when we were running here, after you got up front with Cato. So he stopped a while back." She says this then goes back to talking with the others, planning out ways to catch Katniss when she comes down the tree.

I sincerely hope Glimmer is telling the truth. The only other situation I can think of would be that they killed him as we were running, which makes no sense because he's the only one that can access the food. But he hasn't shown up here yet. Maybe he got lost finding us. I would go back to the lake and try to find him – I think out of everyone in these games, aside from Katniss, I'd like Fitch to be my ally.

But I can't bring myself to leave this little base camp. I don't think the Careers' are going to devise a workable plan to get to Katniss up in that tree at all, but in the event that they do, I can't afford to leave Katniss here by herself. I'll just have to trust that Fitch knows what he's doing.

I say, "We should try to get some sleep. Be prepared for tomorrow morning." They nod collectively, and I realize therein lies a strategy, "While you guys sleep, I'll stay on guard." Maybe they'll fall for it. Do it, please.

But Glimmer slides her back against the trunk of the tree and says, "No, you guys sleep. I'm not tired."

Damn it. I can't argue with her, otherwise I'll look suspicious. I have a feeling they already find me suspicious. I settle down as close to Glimmer's outstretched legs as I dare. Maybe, if Katniss tries to climb down and make a run for it, I can grab hold of Glimmer's leg and prevent her from running after Katniss.

I lay on my back and look up, trying to see Katniss, but all I can make out now is darkness. I know something for certain. I'm not going to be sleeping tonight.

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**This one's a little shorter than the rest, but I have a busy day tomorrow so I wrote quickly. **

**Review please :)  
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	14. Stung and Stuck

It's been a quiet for a few hours now. Glimmer has dozed off, and I'm tempted to try and call up to Katniss to let her know that it's safe for her to come down and make her escape. But I don't know if I'm the only one pretending to sleep. I hope Katniss has come up with some sort of plan to get out of here, because the best one I have is for her to climb down to face everyone, and I'll try to take the brunt of the blows while she runs as far as she can.

We're in silence, and the next thing I'm aware of is buzzing. Then screaming. I hop up, afraid that something happened to Katniss, then I realize that she sent something down here to happen to us. I look to find the source of the buzzing, and my eyes land on a nest of some sort. A tracker jacker nest, I realize. Katniss sent one down. Even as I try to swat them away to avoid their stings, I'm supremely impressed.

Wait, I realize, as I receive my first sting in the chest. Immediately, I start to feel a bit woozy. But as I look around at my supposed cohorts and realize that the only effort they're making against the tracker jackers is hopping around, hitting at them with their hands, I try to make myself keep my wits. Katniss can escape. We just have to leave here and she can escape. I yell, "To the lake!"

I lead them, charging through the woods, leading everyone back to the water. Above Cato's stomping footsteps behind me, I hear the buzzing, and I know I'm being closely followed by several of the tracker jackers. They get me on my torso twice more as I run. The shine of the lake is in my view and I put on a burst of speed, leaping into the air and diving into the water.

I can hear the splashes of everyone else making it into the water. The water instantly soothes the sting of the venom, but I'm still starting to feel even more dizzy. I resurface, as I can't hold my breath for too long. The tracker jackers are still flying around, but most are focused on Marvel, as he was the last one to make it here. He throws his spear on the ground and crashes into the water.

I take a deep breath and go back under. I've never learned how to swim, and I'm just able to touch the bottom of the slippery sand with my tip toes where I'm standing. There is no lake or pond in District 12. Just our bath tubs. I can't hold my breath for very long, and I have to go up for air again. As soon as I do, I'm stung just below my ear. The added venom immediately infects my system, making me even more unsteady.

I force my feet to take steps forward, and now it feels like my legs are fighting through quicksand rather than water. But I have to make it out of here before the stings take a strong hold. I have enough trouble staying afloat while I'm completely lucid. Never mind after I've been stung by tracker jackers.

By the time I reach the land again, all of the trackers have disappeared. They've all stung someone by now, and I know I'm lucky I immersed myself in the water so close after the stings. I collapse on the land, and even as the venom inspired nightmares take a hold of me, I fall onto my back, and think about how must distance Katniss must be putting between us and her now.

As the venom takes over completely, I see my entire family being slaughtered. There's a fire in the bakery when everyone's working. I stand outside, looking in, but unable to help. Their screams tear me apart. But then they're alive. And in the bakery. They're fine now. Until the fire catches again, and I stand glued to the same place as I hear their screams. It happens again. And again. Then once more.

And then I see Katniss. She's running, running fast and far. Until she falls. And then Cato is on her. He cuffs both of her hands in one of his, then takes his sword from where it hangs on his belt. No. He brings it downward, and gives her one of his little slices. She screams, and I try to run to her. No! No! But nothing I does matters. And it happens again. The third time it does, I manage to actually yell, "No!"

The scream rips from my throat and I come back to myself. I'm not watching Katniss die. Katniss isn't dead. It was the venom. I'm lying on my back on the edge of the land that I managed to fall onto when I pulled myself out of the water. It's now light out, but I'm still soaking wet from the water. I couldn't have been under the venom's influence for that long. After all, that water seemed to help take the edge off most of the stings, and I was in there before and longer than anyone else.

As I force myself to sit up, I hear a long groan. Then I realize it was me who is doing the groaning. Every joint and muscle I move aches, but I manage to get up onto my knees before I need to take a break. I look around. Clove is here. Cato's here. And then there's Marvel. I vaguely remember hearing two cannon fires sound, and I realize that Glimmer and Gennie must have taken most of the tracker jacker stings, as they never even made it to the lake.

I'm the only one out of my nightmare. Marvel and Clove are out cold, and Cato is jerking around a bit. I force myself to stand and I can see that Marvel was stung more than anyone, and it looks like it was six or seven times, Clove is stung on the face three times and I don't even know how many there are that aren't visible to me, and Cato has five stings. I was the luckiest of all of us.

I have to stand and lean against a tree, because just standing up and managing to stay up on my own takes a lot out of me. A few minutes go by, and I can move again without the constant ache. When I've caught my breath, I look over and see that Cato is coming to. His eyes are open, and he's blinking, as if realizing that what he just saw wasn't real.

With a sigh of relief I let myself relax against the tree once more. Katniss, being the brilliant girl she is, came up with a plan to save herself and eliminate the competition without even getting down from the tree. She's safe. And I'm safe to be able to try and remain keeping her safe.

The next time I look over at Cato, he's forcing himself up onto his hands and knees. He croaks something out, but I don't catch it. Then he repeats, "Glimmer and Gennie?"

"I think the trackers got them before they could even get up and run. I'll go make sure."

He nods in response, "I'll catch up." And he is still trying to force himself to get up when I turn to go back to where we were before. Marvel's spear lays on the ground, and I think that it can't hurt to take it, just in case some trackers are still alive and I need some modicum of defense.

As I walk, I can hear Cato getting used to his aches, but I hear noises from ahead as well. It doesn't make sense. Glimmer and Clove are still alive? How can that be? I could have sworn I heard two cannons. But I was also held in the clutches of the venom, so I could have hallucinated it.

Just as a precaution, I raise the spear and hold it out in front of me. Yes, there is definitely a noise coming from up ahead. As I walk, I see Gennie's body on the ground. So she _is_ dead. I tighten my grip on the spear, poised to throw if there's anything unexpected popping out.

Then I see… Glimmer's body? If she's dead too, then what…? My mouth falls open and my eyebrows must be so far up they've disappeared into my hair as I make out limbs sitting on the ground that belong to Katniss.

"What are you still doing here?" I want to yell it at her, but I remember that Cato said he'd be meeting me here, so I whisper. He's bound to be a fast healer, and I imagine he's already on his way. But Katniss isn't moving, she's just looking at me like I'm crazy. "Are you mad?" As panic starts to claw at me, I poke her with the butt of the spear, urging her on. "Get up! Get up!"

Finally, she stands, but she's still looking at me with a confused expression. She needs to get out of here! Doesn't she realize that Cato is coming? I can hear him; he's running to reach us. I know I've been made as Katniss' protector, as Cato is using his sword to slash through the brush in his way. Katniss isn't running yet, so I shove her and scream, "Run!" Cato is getting closer. "Run!"

I know how close Cato is what I see Katniss' eyes widen, and what I've been saying sinks in. Finally, she takes off. I long to go after her, stay with her, but it's more help to her if I slow Cato enough so that he won't be able to follow her in her tracks. I whisper, "Goodbye." Before I turn to face him. Goodbye family, friends, and Katniss. I'm going to die as myself.

He's steamrolling toward me, all indications of tracker jacker venom gone. His face is red with anger and he's yelling, "You let her go! You let her go!"

I roll my shoulders back and take a deep breath. This is it. I'm prepared to die. All I can do now is keep Cato distracted long enough for Katniss to run far away. So I raise a brow, "I did. Are you so stupid you thought I'd let her die when it's been my goal to help her live?"

He takes a swipe at me with his sword, and his anger is making him have worse aim. I remember I have Marvel's spear in my hand just in time to deflect the blow. He's towering over me, "I'm going to kill you."

Even his tone of voice is menacing, and his breath is coming fast and ferocious of out his nose. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like a bull?" Maybe the angrier I make him, the more time he'll take to relish in my death before he goes to find Katniss.

He lunges with his sword, and it takes a lot of effort for me to block it this time. The anger throws off his aim, but gives him force. Then I realize: I have a _spear_ in my hand, not just some stick to be a defense weapon. It can be an offensive weapon. I don't have to be a passive member in my death. I can inflict pain as well. If only I was actually trained in using these weapons as a fighter.

He swings again, and this time instead of just jumping out of the way, I shove the spear tip at him. I manage to tear his shirt and scratch his arm. It looks almost as bad as the cut I got on my arm from Clove. I barely feel the satisfaction before his blade comes so close to hitting me that I hear it whistle as it goes by my head.

I'm about to send the spear right through his midsection, when he catches me. My leg gives out beneath me and I fall. I'm on the ground before the pain registers. It was a death blow. I can tell from the instant, bone-clutching pain. There's a scream locked in my throat and tears jump into my eyes, but everything seems frozen. The tears don't fall and the scream doesn't come. All I'm aware of is this pain. He must've cut right to the bone.

I look up and see him standing above me. He's smiling and he says, "See how you enjoy that one." As he picks up Marvel's fallen spear and kicks the leg he's just cut as we walks by. My hands manage to move to my thigh and try to put pressure on the cut. I can feel the blood pouring out, and I know this isn't natural. How am I still alive? Am I still alive? My leg throbs and sends another spurt of pain through me. I jerk back and my hands fall to the ground, and I'm just left staring at the tree tops.

The pain in my leg is excruciating. Burning. I'm certain I'm close to death, if I'm not on its doorstep already. My vision blurs and then goes black. I don't know if I've closed my eyes or what, but it doesn't matter because this is it for me, and I know that._ Good luck Katniss._ _I love you._

_

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_**Review please! **

**So, as you may be wondering, I made the water in this story act as a countereffect to the tracker jacker venom, but I had to do something because in the book, it wasn't that long after Peeta got stung that he was up and walking back to where Katniss was. She was on the ground for days after she got stung, and it just made no sense to me why Peeta wasn't like that. Does that make sense? I don't know. Okay. Thanks for reading!  
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	15. The Boy With The Mud

I don't know how long it's been before I open my eyes. I feel as though I'm swimming into a reality, and I think, _I'm in heaven._ Then I'm looking around and I see the same view that I had before I died. Tree tops. Hmm. For some reason, I always imagined that the first thing I'd see after death was my grandmother. She was the one who taught me how to draw and paint, after all, and we'd be in a room full of easels, with every color imaginable to use on our canvases.

I never expected to see trees.

Then the pain in my leg is back and I know this isn't heaven. This is hell. Otherwise known as the Hunger Games. I haven't even tried to attempt to sit up, but I already feel faint. My hands are shaking as I move them in front of my face, trying to block the sun that's beating down on me.

All I can think is why aren't I dead?

I lay in that spot for what seems like an eternity, trying to muster what strength I have left. _All right Peeta, on the count of three. One. Two._ My hands grasp a nearby tree – _three_ – and I haul myself into a sitting position. The exertion and the fresh pain it sends down my leg is enough to make me collapse back down to where I was. Almost.

I wrap my arms around the base of the tree, holding on for all that I have in me. I have to stay upright, because if I go back down now, there is no getting me back up. The sun is starting to go down the next time I can make myself move again.

I need to stop this blood flow, first of all. Because I have a feeling I've been out for at least a day, and there's still a trickle of blood steadily coming out. I don't know why, but the sharp excruciating pain I was in before I went out is gone, replaced by a duller ache. It's still a constant pain, but it's much more manageable.

My hands fumble as I try to rip the old bandages from my cut arm off. They aren't exactly clean, and I grimace when I see the amount of dried blood on them. But right now it's either them or nothing. I slowly go to work wrapping the bandage around my leg, barely lifting it, to keep the pain level to a minimum.

By the time that's done, it's completely dark out, and I'm exhausted already. I don't have the energy to even find camouflage. Besides, if someone stumbled upon me now and killed me, I'm sure it would be merciful. They'd just be doing me a favor. Not only was I never a real contender in these games, but I only came in with one purpose in mind: protect Katniss. I did the best I could, and I managed to save her life once. I can die knowing I helped her live.

With that in mind, I try to gather whatever is around me: leaves, pine needles and twigs. I try to use them to keep me warm the best as I can before I drift off once more.

I wake up bright and early the next day, and I wish I was at the bakery. I long to hear Lucern's chainsaw snoring, my mother yelling at us to stop being so lazy and get up already. But I know before my eyes are open that that wish is a long, far way away from here.

Well, I've survived another night. Just _wonderful_. I have a bum leg, that's sure to kill me with the infection that's bound to set in without it being able to be cleaned, and nothing else to do in these Games. I can hardly do anything, let alone anything that's helpful to Katniss.

And then it occurs to me. I _can_ be of help to Katniss. Maybe I can't do anything by way of stopping Cato from attacking her, or by somehow guarding her. But I can hold on to my fleeting life as long as possible, and refuse to be one of those pictures in the sky at night. I can only hope that will distract the others from going after Katniss and trying to find me. Especially Cato. Maybe after a few days of realizing he didn't kill me when he apparently thought he did, he'll come and try to hunt me down, giving Katniss a longer opportunity to strategize and do whatever it is she needs to do to win.

I imagine patting myself on the back, as I'm far too weak to do it physically. My mind is incredibly more powerful than my fighting skills, that's for sure. But I know I'm not going to be doing my plan justice by sitting here out in the open, right where he last saw me. Talk about an easy target.

I grit my teeth and look around. What am I near? I'm near the stream. Which I definitely need to go toward sometime, because my thirst is starting to make my throat burn. I'll head there. Go to the stream, and just keep following it. I've never been all the way down there, and I don't think whoever's left from the Careers has either.

I wrap both arms pretty high around the tree. Pull myself up a few inches. Repeat. Without putting any pressure on my bad leg, I stand. Even with my arms still wrapped around the tree and remaining unmoving, I'm already wobbly. I tentatively take a step forward with my good leg and feel pretty good when I manage to stay up. I slowly stretch my bad leg out in front of me, and place it gingerly on the ground.

The second I put any pressure on it, pain radiates through my body, centered on the deep cut in my thigh. I fall hard and fast to the ground. Grimacing, I brace my hands on my thigh and hold tight, thinking the more pressure I apply to the cut, the better it'll get.

By the time the pain has ebbed enough for me to think straight, I'm pretty sure it's been at least an hour already. An hour's gone by, and what do I have to show for it? I've moved a whole foot. Well, walking or standing of any kind is ruled out. That leaves me with regular crawling and army crawling.

I start off with regular crawling, making sure to only use my good leg, and keep the cut one elevated as I move along. This goes well enough, but by the time I reach the stream, my hands are cut, and the knee I've been using is severely bruised. I pause at the stream, cup my hands and drink like I haven't had any water in months. Relief courses through me as my tongue and throat aren't so dry.

Time to reevaluate. Where to go from here, upstream or downstream, because either way, I'm going to need water. Upstream means going uphill, and I'm certain I can't handle doing that with my leg the way it is. Which leaves me going down.

With a deep breath, I grit my teeth against the pain that's going to inevitably resonate through me when I move my leg. It does. But I keep going. This part of the stream is far too out in the open to be a comfort zone.

My elbows slam into the ground to find enough purchase for me to wrench myself forward. Sweat beads on my forehead from the effort it takes to pull myself through the underbrush while holding my injured leg up. It's not long before I have to pause for another break and a drink.

This time when I start crawling, I let my leg drag in the dirt. If I'm going to move even a little bit efficiently, I can't avoid getting dirty. After a while, my leg becomes numb, for which I am extremely thankful. I know it can't be good, what with it being covered in a dirty bandage and dragging on the ground. But it's bound to happen anyway.

I reach a split in the stream. I know if I keep going straight, I'll end up in the area near the Career's camp. Which is about the last thing I want to do. So I follow the stream as it veers off into a part of the woods that I've never been in before. It looks like it's entirely made of mud. There's also a lot of bedraggled plants around, and from my view, it looks like I've crawled out of the woods and into a jungle.

It's difficult to pull myself through the mud; my elbows, knee, and foot that I've been using to get myself this far don't land solidly on the ground, they slip. I've only made it about ten feet into this muddy terrain in the amount of time it would take me to go twenty while on the dry land I'd been on previously.

"Come on Peeta. _Move_." I reach out my hand, and plant it firmly in the mud. Then the other hand. I crawl on my good knee, still dragging the bad one. There, this isn't too bad. I repeat the motion, then do it again. There's a slight smile on my face – look, I'm not as inept as I might have thought.

Then one of my outstretched hands slips out from under me, and I'm face down in the mud, smile gone. Lovely. I manage to roll myself over. The bandage on my leg is gone. Huh, I wonder when that happened. Head to toe, I'm covered in mud. I'm hardly even visible underneath it all. Mud. This is the _perfect_ camouflage!

With a newfound vigor, I pull myself up and push forward. Keep going. The farther in I make it, the better. All I can picture is Cato, angered by the fact that he didn't kill me, and that I've managed to escape where he left me to die. He's going to be tearing through the trees, making loud noises, determined to find me and finish me off. Meanwhile, my Katniss will be sitting in a tree, prepared to kill him when he stomps into her view. Perfect.

I start to laugh. I don't know why, but it's funny. Everything is funny. Is this the tracker jacker venom? Is it still in me, causing some strange side effect? Or is it the infection taking hold of my leg? Who knows? All I know is nothing feels the same to me anymore. I'm feeling light headed, enjoying the numbness of my leg.

Hmm. Why are there so many rocks? _Oh, well. The better to camouflage myself with, my dear. _My inner voice is starting to sound creepy, even to my… other inner voice. _Keep on moving, moving, moving._ What is wrong with me?

Where's Katniss in all of these woods? She must be out there somewhere. Hopefully, plotting and coming up with an excellent idea of how she's going to be able to win. The sun is starting to go down. Huh. I didn't realize I'd been crawling for that long. Do I keep going? I don't know. Am I tired? I don't know.

I shake my head, trying to clear it of the nonsense that's running rampant. My leg throbs, and it's as though that throws me back into reality. Ouch. It throbs again, then the pain siphons off. It's as though the leg pain unleashed the tiredness that had been accumulating all day, and it's all I can do to drag myself up so that I'm leaning my back against a rock before I drift off.

I don't come back to myself until the earth shakes. I hear a faint sound of an explosion, as well, and a few moments later, there's a second shake and explosion. Maybe a third or fourth. Then all is silent. But I don't really know if there was a real explosion or if it was just my mind. Oh, well. The sun is already shining brightly, and I have to blink several times before I can see properly. Without moving from my seat against the rock, I reach my hands over, cup them, and drink some water. I'm really not very thirsty, but I figure it'll help me for when I get moving again.

Okay, deep breath, roll over back onto my stomach. I'm coming up on a rocky area now, and even though I want to stop, I make myself keep going. Push ahead. The harder it will be to find me, the better it is for Katniss. Right? In the little scenarios that run through my head, it works.

I'm lucky my leg is still numb, otherwise I wouldn't be able to take the pounding I get from moving over these rocks. I'm barely able to stand it as is. I don't even have to look at my body to know that I must be one big bruise by now. But still I keep moving. The farther I am, the better it is for –

"God damn it!" I scream, scrambling to turn myself around to see what I just did to my leg. All I know is that it's on fire. The pain crushes me, and tears spring to my eyes. I struggle to keep my breath remain normal as I look down at my leg.

There's a piece of jagged rock lodged in my cut. My hand shakes and I can hear the whimpers I'm making as I reach to pull it out of my leg. It's okay, I tell myself. It'll be okay in just a sec – oh!

After I pull the small rock out, I throw it to the side and take a good look at my leg for the first time in a while. It's starting to swell and it's an angry dark red color. The bleeding is starting again, and I press my hand to it, while my other one goes up to wipe my face. I sniffle and my head falls back onto the nearest rock.

Minutes, maybe even hours, go by before I can calm down. The numbness is gone, and I long to have it back. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to bring myself back to a happier time. Thyler's wedding. That's a good one to focus on, and it didn't happen that long ago. I made the cake. I was at the bread ceremony. I danced.

It seems to work, and I'm able to calm down and take a deep breath. Okay. Time to move on. I move my hand that's been covering my wound and slap it on the rock behind me, trying to push myself off. Then I realize I just gave anyone who would come looking for me a dead giveaway, so I try to use my sleeve and wipe it off. But my sleeve itself isn't exactly clean, and I don't have enough strength left to get rid of it.

So I just move on. But the pain in my leg soon makes it clear that I'm not going to be making it far. I keep moving, but I can't stop myself from collapsing only steps away from my blood smeared rock. I can't keep going. I just can't. I lift my head and look around. The best thing I can go now is hide myself. Camouflage.

I wonder what I can do, where to blend in, when I look down at myself. Mud caked. Stained to look like the mud. Of course. I move to the left, where there's a simple clearing, just mud, with a few overhanging plants. I drag myself over to it and flop down. Instantly, the mud takes me in, and enfolds me. I have just enough energy to reach around and cover myself even more with mud. Perfect.

Now it's all I can do to lay down and hope I live to see everyone's face in the sky above me except for Katniss'. And when that time comes, if I'm not dead by my surely infected leg, I'll roll myself into the stream and drown. I lay here for days, not doing anything. The only time I open my eyes is after the anthem plays at night, just to I can make sure I never see Katniss' face in the sky. I end up seeing Fitch's, Rue's, and Marvel's. But not hers.

I've long lost track of time by the night I hear Claudius Templesmith's voice make an announcement. I assume he's calling everyone to a feast, but that's not what he says at all. My heart starts beating faster and hope is like a rapidly inflating balloon in my chest when it registers what he's saying. Katniss and I are both allowed to win.

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**Thanks for reading! Please review and share your thoughts.**

**I usually try to make the length of the chapters in my story the same as in the book. But, to my mind, Peeta didn't have four chapters length of a story to tell while he's been camouflaged in the woods. After this, everything is going to be the same as it is in the book though.**


	16. Found

I'm laying here, doing the same thing I do every day. Nothing. Even though Katniss and I can both win now, the futility of the situation isn't lost on me. I can tell by the way my leg remains numb hour after hour that there's no coming back from it. No making it better. Instead of the pain it used to give, now it itches, burns, and I don't even have to look at it to feel the swelling.

Now it's all just a matter of waiting. Maybe Katniss is trying to find me, even now as I lay here camouflaged in mud, maybe she's holding onto the hope that I can go home with her. The thought of seeing her face one more time before this infection from my leg ends my life is enough to keep my hanging on day after day.

But maybe she doesn't want to find me. Though she's never voiced her dislike for me out loud, the fact that hearing my voice whenever we were at the Training Center speaks volumes. And maybe it would be better for her to not come find me. Even though I want to see her, I don't want her to have to see me die. I don't want her to get her hopes up about finding me, don't want her to think we can both live through this, only for me to die on her.

I've practically almost convinced myself that she would be better off without finding me, and in turn that would make me better off as I die, when I hear it. The words are hushed, but it's her voice, unmistakably, that says my name.

Now, as I hear her footsteps in the water to my right, my heart sings. She came to find me, because she does care. Well, even if she doesn't care about me, she cares enough to want me to go home with her. I want to smile, but I hold it in. What better time to play a joke then when laying half dead in a pit of mud? "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?"

I can't resist using Haymitch's nickname for her. I don't mean it as an insult, though. I actually mean it. I wonder how she would react to know that I think of her as my sweetheart. The thought makes a grin try to creep up on my face, but she's coming closer so I school my features into nothing. I can hear her whispering my name. Walking closer. Whispering my name.

When she's almost on top of me, I say, "Well don't step on me."

I can't stop myself from opening my eyes and seeing her reaction. I can see the flush of surprise on her face and when she gasps, I grin. She is the most welcome sight I can imagine seeing here. Seeing anywhere, really. She orders me to close my eyes again, so I do. The idea that I've been perfectly hidden for days is reinforced. When I open my eyes, I know it's happiness I see on her face. The fact that she's happy she's found me brings a warmth to my chest.

She says, "I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off."

A joke! Katniss is joking with me. And she remembers what I said in the Training Center, when I made a joke about the arena being a giant cake. The fact that she was paying attention after all brings a smile onto my face, "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying."

I guess that was the wrong joke to make. She gets a determined look and looks me in the eye, "You're not going to die."

I've had days, weeks even, to accept my death. "Says who?" Because says Peeta Mellark, I'm dying.

"Says me." Well, it's no secret that I'm willing to give whatever she wants a try. But much as I love Katniss and want to stay alive for her, escaping death isn't something I can promise. "We're on the same team now, you know."

I close my eyes. We always were. You just didn't know it, I think, before opening them again. I tell her it was nice of her to come find what's left of me. And it was nice. She'd have a much easier time winning this without me, and yet she came to find me anyway.

She asks, "Did Cato cut you?" As she brings her water bottle to my lips. My lips are on something that hers have touched. I've given a lot of thought to Katniss' lips over the years, and now, even as I tell her where Cato gave me the cut that's sure to kill me soon, I want her to kiss me. Before I die, I want her lips on mine.

She tells me that she wants to move me into the stream. I've tried moving a few times since I've been laying here in the mud, and each time I only get a few inches before my leg stops me. Before the pain of moving to the stream renders me incoherent, I want to kiss her. So I say, "Lean down a minute first. Need to tell you something." She comes so close that her ear is literally pressed against my lips and her hair tickles my face. "Remember, we're madly in love. So it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

Her reaction is anything but heartening. She jerks away from me and laughs. Of all of the times I'm not joking, she thinks I am. But her laugh drifts to my ears, sweeter than any song or music note, and it feels good to make her laugh, whether or not I intended to. Now she stands and takes hold on my arms. I brace myself for her to pull.

"Ah!" The sound breaks from me before I can stop it. I know Katniss is going her best to move me gently, so I bite my lip. Even so, the occasional sound gets away from me. I think it would be less painful to have my leg cut off than have it be wrenched from the grip of the mud. Anything would be less painful than this. I try to focus on the fact that Katniss is trying to help me. Katniss is helping me. Katniss is helping me. My eyes are clamped shut, trying to hide the tears from the pain. I don't want Katniss to feel guilty, but I can feel the tears leak out underneath my closed eyelids.

As she finishes pulling me, I don't open my eyes but I know I'm not yet in the stream. I'm grateful she doesn't mention anything about my crying as she looks at my face. Now she tells me she's going to roll me in the stream. I know I said anything would be less painful than the pulling, but, still… _role_? My muscles are already tense when I say, "Excellent."

She starts the countdown to the rolling, and I think maybe it won't be all that bad. Then it starts. No matter how much I want to hide my outward signs of pain, I can't help the long moan that escapes me as she rolls me over. Rocks dig into my arm, then I'm face down in them. The moan stops there and I pant, trying to catch my breath. That wasn't… well, it was pretty terrible. But it's halfway done, right? She starts to roll me once more, and as my bad leg is rolled directly on the rocks, a sound rips from my throat that I myself don't even recognize.

When I'm once more on my back, this time right on the edge of the stream, I force myself to quiet down, and I barely hear Katniss say something over the rapid pounding of my heart. I think it was something that involved the stopping of my rolling.

I'm out of breath when I ask, "No more rolling?" There's no way she misses the hope in my voice.

"That's all done." I heave a sigh of relieve, and she tells me that she's going to clean me up, and that I should keep an eye on the woods.

I doubt anyone is going to stumble upon us up here, after all before now I'd been here for days without seeing another soul. Katniss is pouring water on me. One, two, three bottles. I think I might actually be recognizable now, then something happens that makes me freeze. Katniss is touching me. Her hands are on me. Unzipping my jacket, unbuttoning my shirt. How many times have I dreamed about this in my lifetime? Of course, in my dreams this wasn't happening in the arena of the Hunger Games, with me about to die, and her only looking at me in a clinical sense.

All right, so it's not really what I dreamed of at all. Especially when she takes out her knife and cuts off my undershirt. Well, admittedly, that has happened once or twice in some of my more primitive dreams. But still, not in this setting.

She props me up against a boulder, and starts to wash off my face and hair. I've never been so close to her before, ever, and as she works, I just stare at her face. My Katniss Guideline, though in place only a few weeks ago, seems like a distant memory. Now I can look at her all I want. Not only have I told her – and the world – of my love for her, but I'm no longer nothing to her. She cares about me now. I love the feeling of her hands running through my hair, and I wish I could run mine through hers.

As she gives me a look of pity, she starts to take the stingers out of my tracker jacker stings. I'd forgotten about them somehow, but now they burn with pain once again. But she applies something to them that makes the world feel almost right again. Of course she knows how to do this, her mother's a healer. She probably helps her with patients.

Before I can calm down, she's running her hands over me urgently, like she's found something new. I don't feel like anything's different than it was before, though. I only realize that I must have a fever when she puts the back of her hand to my forehead and hastily digs through a – hey that's my first aid kit. I left it at the Career's camp. That means she's either been there or, less likely, she took one of them down while they were carrying it somewhere. I want to ask, but she's telling me to take some pills before I can say anything.

Now she's trying to get me to eat, but I'm not hungry. I haven't been hungry since I woke up from being cut by Cato. That had to have been at least three days ago. She tries to make me eat some groosling she has in her bag, but the mere smell of it makes me nauseous. My empty stomach churns, and I look away from it, trying to escape the smell.

"Peeta, we need to get some food in you." She's still holding the groosling, so I continue to look away from her. I haven't felt this sick since that night I had to clean up Haymitch from his own vomit.

"It'll just come right back up." After a minute we're at a stand-still, and she reluctantly puts the groosling away. I turn back to look at her. She's looking at me, disappointed that I won't eat and I say, "Maybe if you have something in there with little to no smell, I could get it down." She digs in that bag for a moment and comes out with pieces of dried apple. Since it means to much to her, I try to eat some. The effort it takes for me to pick up the bits and chew tires me. This is more exertion than I've had since the day I've pulled myself into the mud and settled there. After five or six apple pieces, I feel like I'm full to bursting, and I it's more work to keep my eyes open than it was to stomach those apples, "Can I sleep now, Katniss?"

She tells me that I can sleep soon, but she wants to look at my leg. And then she's taking off my left boot and sock. She's being as gentle as she can, so I try to ignore the pinches of pain that the wiggling is causing. Then she's inching off my pants.

Once again, I've dreamt of happening, more times than I'd like to count. But not like this. And – what the hell is that smell? I look down, and have to do a double take before I can look at my leg. Is that really my leg? I haven't looked at it in days, and the sight of it makes me more certain than ever that I'm dying. I don't have to be a doctor to know that my leg is starting to decompose.

I look up at Katniss. Now she looks sick as well. Her face is devoid of all color, and even her lips are shock white. She has to be regretting coming to find me, now. Now that she realizes how lethal and disgusting my leg really is. I want to drag her eyes away from the sight, so I say, "Pretty awful, huh?"

"So-so." She shrugs, but she's not a good liar. Even when she makes a comment about how I should see the people her mom helps from the mines, I know she's still on the verge of being sick. "First thing to do is clean it well."

She slides something under my legs – some sort of plastic, I think – and starts to pour water over my leg. I don't need to look at it to know how bad it looks – I just have to look at Katniss' face. The more water is poured, the sicker she looks. She kind of looks like she's going to faint when she sits back and says, "Why don't we give it some air and…"

I want to tell her it's all right. We can slide my pants back on and pretend there's nothing there. I want to take her hand and just tell her that it's okay, I already know it's a lost cause. Just sit with me here until I die. But I know she doesn't want to give up hope, and I'm going to let her hold onto whatever makes her feel better, so I finish her sentence, "And then you'll patch it up?"

"That's right," she tells me, and I think she's relieved I gave her a direction to take. She hands me more dried fruit, and tells me to eat them. Then she scoots away and continues to wash my clothes. I try to stomach some of this fruit and keep my eyes trained on her. Why was she so resistant to being my friend before, when she obviously doesn't dislike me?

She must have been afraid of getting attached to me, then having to kill me. What other reason could there be? During training, she clearly actively fought against being my friend, and now that she knows we'll both be able to go home, she's not afraid of becoming attached to me. But I think we both know right now that, with this leg, I'm not going to be able to go back home with her. Only now, I'm going to die knowing that the girl I love cares about me, and could maybe one day love me back.

And I think that's all anyone, especially in my position, could really ask for.

She's viewing all of the meds she has, and I can tell she's dissatisfied with the amount of medications she has with her. She doesn't even have the energy to put false hope into her tone as she says, "We're going to have to experiment some."

She starts with some sort of leaves; she chews them up and then puts them on my leg. I breathe through my gritted teeth, as the pain is instantly back. But it's also starting to slowly fade. I'm incredibly impressed with Katniss, as the pus starts oozing out. This should be a good sign, right? Then it just keeps oozing, running down both sides of my leg, and I have to look away. Oh, god. I have a strong stomach for these types of things, and even my stomach is starting to turn.

But my reaction is nowhere near as intense as Katniss', who's face is actually green tinted now. It's clear she's no healer. Smart enough to be, definitely, because what she's doing is working. However, she does not have the stomach. If I don't distract her soon, she's going to lose her breakfast, all over herself and my leg, which won't make this situation any better. "Katniss," She unglues her eyes when I say her name. Thinking quickly – what will distract her? Make her laugh, even? The answer is simple, I mouth, "How about that kiss?"

It works. She laughs. It makes the hopelessness I've been accumulating about my fate go away. Then she loses the laugh and she's sickened again.

"Something wrong?" Because of course something's wrong. She can hardly stand to look at my infected leg, and the girl I've loved forever is just starting to care for me and I'm dying. But the thing is, it's my job to keep her level headed in all of this. It's my job to send her home.

She tells me what I've already figured out, about how she can't stand the pus. But it gives me an unprecedented question, "How do you hunt?" She kills animals for trade; how does she do this when she can't even stand the sight of some pus?

She tells me, "Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this. Although, for all I know, I am killing you right now."

That's not true, I'm dying right now because of Cato. But that's not what she needs to hear right now, so I joke, "Can you speed it up a little?"

She says firmly, "No." Then tells me to eat those dried pears while she finishes up working on my leg.

I watch her as she works, and think that it's a shame she doesn't have the stomach for it, because otherwise she could have been a doctor. Not only is she smart, but she has quick, competent hands. Maybe it's from hunting, maybe it's from watching her mother, or maybe she was just born to have quick, competent hands. She says she doesn't know what she's doing, but after three rounds of those leaves, the swelling has gone down. And I see that I was right, Cato did cut me right to the bone. I look at Katniss, and see that she's not as sick looking as before, but she's still transfixed by the wound. I draw her out of her trance, asking, "What next, Dr. Everdeen?"

She tells me what her plan is and I go along with it. Whatever she did before worked pretty well, and with my medical experience I have no right to disagree. I'm satisfied – there's less pain, the wound is cleaner than ever, and it's in a clean bandage, but Katniss wants to wash my shorts. She doesn't want to embarrass me, and tries to give me something to cover myself up.

But nakedness really doesn't mean much to me, and I have nothing to be embarrassed about, so I say, "Oh, I don't care if you see me." In fact, I more than don't care; I'm completely fine with it.

She mutters something about her family that I don't catch, then says louder, "I care, all right?" The corners of my lips twitch up when I think I detect a hint of a blush.

I say, "You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person." Innocent. Pure. But I think she's respond far better to squeamish than to either one of those. I joke, "I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower, after all."

The nose wrinkle she gives me is adorable as she asks me what Haymitch has sent me so far.

I tell her about how he hasn't sent me anything, but hesitate before I tell her that I was the one who told Haymitch not to send me anything. Katniss doesn't need to know that, right? Wouldn't it only make her mad? I ask, "Why, did you get something?"

When she tells me that she got burn medicine and bread I silently thank Haymitch. He's been doing a good job keeping an eye on Katniss, then. I tell her that I always knew she was his favorite, even though Haymitch would deny that's true. He likes her, he just doesn't realize it. The same way she doesn't realize that she actually likes him, deep down.

She denies that Haymitch actually likes her, and struck again by how tired I am. I shift around against the boulder and close my eyes as I tell her that the reason they don't like each other is because they're both too alike. At least, I think I say it, before I drift off to sleep.

I'm still tired even as someone is waking me up. Who is this? Where am I? I recognize Katniss' voice saying, "Peeta, we've got to go now." But why is Katniss in my bedroom? And where do we need to go?

I open my eyes, "Go? Go where?" Moments later, everything comes back to me. Where we are, what's happening. She explains where we have to go while I'm still blurry from sleep. I'm becoming clearer as she helps dress me.

Then she tells me I need to stand. I already know that's probably not a great idea, but I'm going to have to try my hardest, because Katniss is determined this is what we need to do. She helps me get to my feet. I'm a lot steadier than I was when I attempted to walk a few days ago, maybe I'll be able to do this. But as soon as I put my weight on my leg, that same terrible pain that's been eluding me rushes back. I don't collapse like I did last time, but that's only because Katniss is holding onto me.

I force myself to keep going. Katniss needs me to. I don't mean to, but I end up putting a lot of my weight on her. It's the only way I can do it. I don't know how far we go, but it seems like we've walked miles by the time my vision is blurring. I don't know if I say anything aloud to Katniss that tells her that I think I'm about to black out, but either way, she knows because she lets me sit. I think I've just narrowly avoided the black out because she makes me breathe with my head between my knees, and she rubs my back comfortingly.

I'm trying to regain my breath enough to tell her that I'm really no use. That she should go on without me, because I know I can't make it very far after this, and I don't want her to be sitting out in the open with me after dark. Not after I've seen how much Cato and Clove love to hunt at night. Before I can voice my worries, she makes me stand up and keep moving.

Step after step, everything is just getting worse. By the time we've reached somewhere she deems satisfactory, I'm out of breath. My world is spinning and I'm this close to throwing up all that dried fruit she made me eat. Before I even realize what she's done, she has me laying down on something – I run my hands over it and realize it's a sleeping bag. She's forcing pills down my throat. I can barely stomach them, so I refuse to let her give me more of that dried fruit. That would just make all of my previous fruit and all those pills make a reappearance.

Then she leaves me, and starts building some rock wall at the mouth of our little cave. I watch her face and, for the first time since I was in the games, with I had some paper and a pencil. She's so striking, just like this. Her features mirror the determination I know she's feeling. Determination at keeping me safe and alive. The fact that she cares so much about me makes me happier than I've ever been.

A perfect time to die. I know I'm going to. Her treatment of my leg may have slowed it, but I know that I'm going to die in this cave. Better here with Katniss than in that mud pit by myself. I say her name to get her attention, and she walks over to me. She brushes my hair out of my eyes and I wish I could take her hand in mine. Have the contact and feel the warmth. But I'm too weak to lift my hand enough to even rest on my stomach. "Thanks for finding me."

She says something back to me but I'm not listening. But because she seems to be looking for an answer, I say, "Yes." I can't die without letting her know how I feel. I don't want her to think everything was for show, because none of it was. "Look, if I don't make it back –"

She doesn't let me finish. I can tell she's scared, but I don't want her to be. I want to tell her that I love her, and that she's amazing, and not to feel bad when I die. Because it was all for her. I try to tell her again, but she cuts me off once more, putting her finger to my lips.

Panic swells out of nowhere. I am dying and she needs to know how I feel before I do. I can't just give up trying to tell her. "But I –"

Then it happens. What I've wanted for forever. Her lips are chapped from our time in the arena, and cool, which strangely makes mine feel better; they're everything I could ever want them to be. More. Because now, right here, in this cave, is better than any dream or fantasy I've ever had.

All too soon, she draws away. This time, when she tells me I'm not going to die, I'm so delirious with glee over that kiss, all I do is agree. Declarations of love can wait. Life and death can be put on hold for love. And maybe she already knows how I feel. How couldn't she? After all, I did help her get away from Cato, and I announced it on national television. She has to know how I feel.

She leaves my side, and I want her to come back but I don't say anything. I'm still content with death. Even more so, now that I just got what I've always dreamed of. When you have that, what more do you need? I feel myself slipping into sleep's clutches again, and this time I do nothing to fight it.

I haven't even managed to fall into a deep sleep before I hear Katniss say my name. She's far away, but when I open my eyes, she's right in front of me. I smile, thinking that she's going to kiss me again. She's sitting there, with a flush of happiness in on her face, and I think I'd be fine to sit here and stare into those stone gray eyes forever.

Then she holds up something excitedly and says, "Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you."

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**First interaction in the cave! Hope you liked it, review if you did, even if you didn't please!**


	17. Love is Sweet as Syrup

It's broth. My stomach rolls at the smell. It's not bad, but I really don't want to eat it. I think _maybe _I could keep it down, but I'm just not hungry.

Katniss holds it in both hands, and I know she's frustrated with me, as she sighs, "Peeta, you need to eat something other than dried fruit."

I shake my head, "No, I'm not hungry. You should have it."

"It was sent for _you_, Peeta. Haymitch wants you to drink it. Whoever sponsored the gift wants you to drink it. It'll make you feel better."

I doubt that some broth will make me feel better, and I say as much to her. After a few minutes of this, she takes one hand off the pot and brings it to my face. It barely registers to me what she's doing until she turns my head to her and presses her lips to mine. They stay there long enough for me to relax, then she draws away and puts the pot to my lips, "Now drink."

And I do. It's not bad, in fact it's pretty good. But not as good as Katniss' lips. She catches on extremely quickly that the more kisses she gives me, the more broth I'll drink. It's her greatest bargaining maneuver, and she takes advantage of it. For which I'm grateful.

The broth fills me up quickly, and as soon as it's gone, Katniss is looking satisfied, and I'm about to fall asleep again. Before I do, I whisper, "Can I have another for the road?"

She places her lips on mine again, and before they're gone I'm asleep. In my dream, I'm laying in bed. It's big and soft, like I'm lying in a pile of feathers. I look to my side and snuggled next to me is Katniss. Her hair isn't in a braid, and as I run my hand through it, she looks up at me and smiles.

"I didn't die," I say.

Her words send warmth coursing through me, "You know I'd never let you go. I love you, Peeta."

A smile breaks out on my face, so wide I think my face is going to break in half from sporting it. "I love you, too. I always have. I always will."

She sighs, drapes her arm around my chest, and snuggles even closer to me. This must be what heaven feels like. It has to be, I think, and I stare up at the ceiling with a grin and continue to stroke my hand through her hair. Then she's gone. Terror threads through me, "Katniss?"

Then I'm slammed back into reality. I open my eyes and don't see a nice ceiling above me, but rock. My heart is still racing, and the dread only gets worse when I see Katniss is not only not next to me, but she isn't even in the cave. "Katniss?" I call it out, but my voice is weak and I get no answer.

My hands are like weights as I try to get them behind me to push myself up. It's like they're foreign objects, not belonging to my body, but I force them where they need to be. I need to get up. I need to find her. What if she needs me? Clove and Cato must have come to find her. They thought I was as good as dead, so they left me and took her. When I hear footsteps approaching, then her face appears, I'm certain I've never felt a relief so sweet. "I woke up and you were gone. I was worried about you."

She laughs and comes to me, easing me back to lay down. I see no humor in the situation when she says, "You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"

After I explain my fear about Clove and Cato, she tells me who's still alive and in the game. Then she asks me how I'm feeling. "Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud. Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag." Sitting here, having a real relationship with Katniss. We have unfiltered, unforced conversations. We've kissed. She took care of me. The reality of it all hits me – this is me and Katniss together, really together – and I add on, "And you."

At my words, she elates me my reaching her hand out and touching my cheek. I take her hand and put it to my lips, keeping eye contact. This must be the cave where dreams come true.

She teases me and says I can't have any more kisses until I eat, so I manage to down some odd crushed berry thing she's made. Then she tries to get me to eat that groosling again. The smell of it still makes me want to vomit, and no amount of kisses could force it down my throat. I shake my head until she finally gives up trying to make me eat it.

I can tell she's frustrated with me, and I narrow my eyes. She has dark circles under her eyes. "You didn't sleep." Why didn't she sleep last night? Regardless of the reason, it's clear she needs sleep. Even when she says that she's fine, I know she's not. I urge her to go to sleep, telling her that I'll stay guard, because I don't like to see her at anything less than one-hundred percent.

She curls up on the sleeping bag next to her, her head resting right next to my leg. Now it seems like the most natural thing in the world to reach down and delve my fingers into that hair. The cave of fulfilling dreams, I think again, as she sighs and finally drifts off. I keep my hand stroking her hair. It's soft, cool, thick. Perfect. Just like everything else about her.

As I watch her sleep, she curls in around my hand, and for the first time, I'm genuinely not okay with dying. For the first time in my life, I have Katniss. She may not love me the way I love her, but she has to care for me romantically in some way. Why else would she have kissed me, or make those gestures like brushing my hair out of my eyes, caressing my cheek? Those are the types of things people in love do. It's what I would do for her if our places were swapped.

I don't want to die. I want to live, and I want to be with Katniss. When she sleeps, I want to be able to sit next to her and comb my fingers through her hair. I want her to be the last person I see before I go to sleep. I look at my leg, scowling, hating the stupid limb. I can't have that life because of this leg. Because of Cato. Because of these useless Games.

I don't know how long I sit here, but eventually my anger fades. It is what it is. Isn't that what I thought before I even went to the Capitol? I am what I am, and nothing is going to change that. It's the same thing with this situation. So I let it go. For the remainder of my life, I'll have Katniss here with me. I'm content with that.

She looks so beautiful while she sleeps. Normally, while she's awake she's wearing her typical scowl. I'm kind of insane, maybe, because I like her scowl. I love her smile, her scowl… any expression she has is lovely. I let her sleep throughout the morning, and into the afternoon. It's longer than she wanted, but, deny it she may, she needs it.

When she wakes, the first thing she says is, "Peeta, you were supposed to wake me up after a couple of hours."

I look around and tell her, "For what? Nothing's going on here." Then I tell her my thoughts on how she doesn't scowl when she sleeps, which, as I thought it would makes her scowl. The fact that I was able to know what her reaction would be, that I know her that well, makes me happy.

She raises her hand to my forehead and looks at my lips. I wish I could say she was doing this out of passion, but she has that clinical look again. She presses her lips together in what I'm coming to know is her frustrated look, "You haven't been drinking the water."

"I have." I only say it because I don't want her to be even more worried about me. The fact is, not only and I really not hungry, I'm not very thirsty now, either. But because she's standing in front of me, forcing me to take some pills – fever ones, I think – I take them. I try to refuse the quarts of water she forces on me, but once I get over my initial sick feeling for the first few sips, the water feels like it's replenishing me. The more I drink, the thirstier I am. I drink two quarts before I'm remotely satisfied.

Then she takes on the task of redressing my leg. I don't even have to look at her face or the leg itself to know if it's bad; I've been feeling it all day. When we peel back the bandage, Katniss blanches at the worsening of the wound. I wasn't expecting blood poisoning, but it doesn't surprise me. My stomach sinks, because I know the end is near. One day, maybe two, and I'm gone. The cave doesn't grant all wishes, I suppose.

She tries to comfort me, but she's a bad liar. This time I tell her about how I know how bad it is and I don't let her keep the hope, because I don't want her trying to tiptoe around this with me. I am dying. And we both know it.

She's still holding onto some hope, though, and says, "You just have to outlast the others, Peeta. They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win."

"Yes, that's a good plan." It's really not, because we still have that girl from District 5 out there somewhere, Clove, Cato, and Thresh, and only two days maximum for them to die. But if that's what Katniss needs to think to sleep better, than she can think it.

Minutes later she goes outside to make some food and I stretch out on the sleeping bag. It isn't fair, what I'm doing to her. She should be out, strategizing, killing off the others so she can go home. Not saddled here with me, a dying cripple. If I was a more decent person, I'd let her leave. But I'm selfish and I don't want her to leave. I sit and brood in this cave, until Katniss comes back in. I can't stay in a bad mood around her, plus the darker I get, the worse she's going to feel.

I don't realize how hot I am until she places a cool cloth on my head. I'm burning. When she asks if I want anything, I think that I want not to die. I want to be with Katniss for a long, long time. I want to go back to the bakery and see my family again. But all I tell her is that I want to hear a happy story. Because I do want to hear something good about Katniss' life. The idea of hearing her story of how she got her sister a goat makes me smile.

But I know almost immediately after she starts telling the story that she's lying. After hunting illegally for years now, I figured she'd actually know how to spin a good tale. But I'm sadly mistaken. Never the less, I let her tell the story until nearly the end, when she starts talking about her mother and sister. Because now I can tell she's telling the truth again, about how they took care of it, nursing it to health.

I interrupt the story, and say, "They sound like you." The goat is a metaphor for me, injured as Katniss comes across me, and she fixed me up as well as she can. The herbs that her sister and mother forced the goat to eat are the pills that she's been forcing me to take.

She looks at me like I've conjured this idea out of thin air, "Oh no, Peeta, that thing couldn't have died if it tried." Right after she says it, her eyes grow wide and she clamps her mouth shut.

I can't help but find the humor, and I laugh softly, "Don't worry. I'm not trying." But the implication that I am is still there as I urge her to finish the story.

At the end, we joke back and forth about the different ways the goat has made her happy, I compare myself to the goat again, saying that I'll pay for the trouble I've caused for her several times over as well. I can't believe when she asks what I've cost her, as the list just keeps getting longer: her time, energy, medical supplies, and, in the end, the guilt she's going to have after I die. As my remorse takes a hold in me I just sum it all up, "A lot of trouble." Don't worry, you'll get it all back, I think.

Then I realize I said it out loud. Oops. How did that happen? Before I can even question it, we hear Claudius Templesmith start to make an announcement. I lay back and relax at first, because I'm certain he's just going to invite us to some feast, and we already have plenty of food. But his next words make my heart rate spike. Because he's inviting us all to get something we need. And it doesn't take a genius to know that what they'll be sending us is something to heal my leg.

I can live! I _can_ go home and be a part of Katniss' life. Then it dawns on me. The pleasure that had given me such hope only a moment ago disappears. I can't have those things that I want. Because the only way we can get the medicine I need to live, is for Katniss to go to the Cornucopia and possibly die. And what Cato on such a hunt for her blood, that possibly amps up to a probably.

Even though my body screams at me in revolt, I push myself up. I have to go to Katniss before she takes off and tell her that she can't go. If she goes, everything I've done in these games is pointless, because not only will I be dead, but she will too. I make myself limp over to where she's standing and I put my hand on her shoulder, and tell her she's not going. She just can't.

When she gets defensive, I look at her skeptically, "So you're not going?"

She is such a terrible liar. She doesn't make eye contact with me, and her voice takes on an abnormal tone as she says, "Of course I'm not going. Give me some credit." And then she begins to say that of course she wouldn't go up against the others. I do give her credit, for trying to lie to me to save my life. But just because I give her credit doesn't mean I'm going to let her give her life.

Apparently it's the last straw when I mock her lying capabilities. Her face flushes red and her tone is sharp as she says, "All right, I am going, and you can't stop me!"

Over my dead body. I tell her so, in less words, and the more she argues with me, the more angry I become. Doesn't she understand? Everything I've done in these games will be for nothing. I'll have died for no reason. My purpose in these games was the keep her alive. Not let her die because of me.

Her arms are crossed and she snarls at me, "What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?"

My anger is replaced by hopelessness and I beg her, "I won't die. I promise. If you promise not to go."

Which, of course, is something I can't promise. Because I know I am going to die. But by the time that promise is broken, it'll be too late for her to go running into the Cornucopia, head first into trouble.

She's fuming. I can practically see the steam coming from her ears as she agrees, and emphasizes that I'm going to have to do whatever she says, which includes eating even when I feel like I'm going to vomit. But vomiting because of her forcing food down my throat is a million times better than her dying. But before I agree, I regard her with suspicion. She looked me right in the eyes, and said it with a normal, albeit mad, tone. Relief forces the tightness out of my chest, "All right. Is it ready?"

I don't know whether or not that was a bad thing to ask, because she has to leave the cave to check. But she wouldn't just promise not to go then take off. Would she? Damn it, she would. The anxiety rises, and I call myself an idiot, an imbecile, a dummy. I start to limp out of the cave to follow her, because she's been out there for a while when she walks back in with the soup.

I sit down and pick at it until she gives me the evil eye, and I scoop it up, shoving it into my mouth with vigor. Even as my stomach starts to revolt, I don't stop. If she's going to hold up her end of the deal, I certainly am. Because she's still looking grouchy when I finish, I try to make her feel better, scraping my spoon against the side of the pot, "Yum, that was delicious. Probably the best soup I've ever had. You know that?"

She just glares at me, and I can tell she's going to stay angry at me for a while. It doesn't sit right with me, because I don't want her to be upset with me. But it's understandable; I'm stopping her from doing something she really wants to do. I just keep going on and on about her soup and how good it was, just in case it'll soften her up, but when she doses me with more fever medicine, I'm pretty sure she just thinks my fever is making be crazy.

I don't argue with her when she leaves the cave to go down to the stream. Even though it's been over an hour, she's still mad. Better mad than dead. I settle back, leaning against the rock wall and close my eyes. My fingers draw little designs on the dirt floor until I hear Katniss come back in. I sit up straighter, and my night is a bit brighter when I see that she's smiling.

"I brought you a treat. I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream." She's shoving a spoon full at me before I can even respond.

Remembering the deal, I open even though the soup from dinner is still filling my stomach. I swallow the berries slowly. They taste funny… they're far more sweet than the other berry mixtures Katniss has forced on me before. "They're very sweet."

She tells me something about jam, saying her mother uses these Sugar berries to make it, shoving another spoon into my mouth. Have I ever had them before? My mind isn't racing now, thoughts are slowly swirling. I'm fighting to make a connection because I know I've had this taste before when I respond, "No, but that taste familiar." Hmm. Sweet. What did she say they were called again, "Sugar berries?"

She says something else but the words are distant. Not found in the market. Grow wild. Another spoonful. They're so sweet. It seems a little thick for berry juice. So sweet. "Sweet as syrup." As I say the words, she slips the last spoonful in. I let it sit on my tongue and contemplate my own words, a mist taking over my head. "Syrup." Sleeping syrup!

She knows when it hits me because she clamps her hand over my nose and mouth. I try to make myself perform the puking action it's been so eager to perform for the past few days, but I can't. My heart pounds erratically and panic takes over, even as my eyes start to close. No. No! No! The haze is blurring my mind. I try to buck, to reach out and make her stop, don't go. Come back! I try to yell it, and then –

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**That rascally Katniss... hope you liked it! Review please :)**


	18. Dr Mellark

The first conscious thought I have is that I hate sleep syrup. That thick sweet taste stays with you for hours after you wake up from it, and I've always hated taking it when I was sick. Why did my parents give it to me this time? Was it the flu again? I've already had it four times before, and I'm so sick of –

My memory is hit with a freight train loaded. My leg injury. Going to die. Katniss drugging me. Katniss. Immediately, I sit up and scramble to stand. She went to the Cornucopia, and I need to get to her. Terror is part of my blood stream, pumping all over my body and I'm already standing, by the time I realize Katniss is here.

She's laying on the ground of the cave, on her stomach. I'm able to catch my breath and I fall to my knees beside her, thinking she's just sleeping when I see it. A dark pool of blood. The side of her face is resting in it.

She's dead. All this blood, how could anyone survive it? My chest tightens and my throat clogs and I'm numb. There's nothing left. I reach down, trying to be as gentle as I can as I lift her into my lap. I have her cradled, the bloody side of her head resting on my chest and I rock. "You're not dead. Katniss Everdeen doesn't die, she survives. You're the survivor!"

Then I feel her breath on my face. Alive. She's alive. My fingers are trembling as I try to sweep aside the blood that's stuck to the side of her face, trying to find where she's cut. I find it. A slice of skin is missing above her right eyebrow, and I think her bleeding has stopped. I'm nearly crippled with relief at the fact: she's alive. I need to take care of her, clean her up the same way she did for me. But I take another moment to just hold her in my arms, feel her breathing. Feel her live.

Now I make myself draw back. It's time for me to do my job: take care of Katniss. Looking at the injury on her forehead, guilt gnaws on my stomach. I've been doing a terrible job so far. I save her from Cato only to make her run into a near death incident trying to save me.

Taking a deep breath, I lift her off me and set her on top of the sleeping bag. I turn away from her and grab a few water bottles and the first aid kit, walking to retrieve them from the other side of the cave before I realize: the pain in my leg is so dull it's practically nonexistent. Not _nearly_ as bad as it's been since I was hurt. I'm even able to walk with a minimal limp.

I bend over to grab hold of the water and first aid kit, taking a moment to revel in the usefulness of my leg before pushing all Peeta centered thoughts from my mind. Right now is about Katniss and Katniss only.

As soon as I'm next to her again, I kneel next to her bad side. It takes a full bottle to get the blood off of her face, and when I have a clear view of her cut. It's so… small. And yet it produced all this blood. Digging through the first aid kit, I take out a clean cloth and wet it, wiping away the dirt and little particulates that are embedded in it, trying to be as gentle as I can. I don't want to cause her more pain then necessary when she wakes up.

Lucky for both of us, she has some of those leaves she used on my leg in the kit. She used them to draw out the pus from my leg, so they must do some sort of thing to ward off infection. I chew some up – that is what she did with my leg, right? – and press them to the cut. It's nothing like watching the pus drain from my leg, but some fluid trickles out. I wonder if I should do another round of the leaves, just in case that first one wasn't enough.

I draw them away and look at the small amount of the fluid and think that's probably going to be it. Just to be sure, I chew up some more and press them there. I can count the number of drops that fall on one hand, so I think the leaves have done their job. I take out some of the pristine white bandages and inspect the slice on her forehead. I think it looks clean enough to put the bandage on. It's loads better than it was before. Carefully, I lift her head and wrap the bandage around her head.

I settle back to look at how I've done, and am immensely satisfied with myself as I look down at her freshly bandaged head. It looks fine. Good, even. I shift her off the sleeping bag now, and thread her blood-matted hair through my fingers and slowly pour the water over it. By the time the bottle is almost empty, her hair is clean.

Shifting her back onto the sleeping bag, I pat my hands over the rest of her body, checking for more injuries. I find none, but the bottom of her pants and her boots are soaking wet. I draw off her boots, and find that her socks are soaked, too. I pull them off as well, and then roll up her pant legs until it's only just the dry part touching her skin.

I slide her into the sleeping bag and gently kiss the left side of her head. Now as I look down at her, it seems the last of the numbness leaves my system because now I really can believe she's just sleeping. She will be okay.

After staring at her for a moment, making sure she's stable, I slide off my pants. My leg is almost back to normal size. It's healing. Katniss went to the Cornucopia, got injured, but saved my life. She saved me. I pull my pants back up and move to settle down beside her, when the smell hits me. I've never smelled blood before, but the pile of Katniss' pooled on the cave ground is incredibly strong, tainting the air. I don't want that to be the first thing she smells when she wakes up, so I take the remaining water bottle and dump it on the blood, thinning it out, then I settle the cloth I used to clean Katniss' head over it, letting it soak up the moisture.

I need to go to the stream and refill the water bottles and clean the cloth, but I don't want to leave Katniss as I do. I'm torn between going out there or staying in, but I need to go. I want to have water for her to drink when she wakes up, but I don't want to go… with a sigh, I tuck the sleeping bag closer around Katniss and whisper, "I'll be right back. Don't worry."

Gathering up the water bottles and the cloth, I jog from the mouth of the cave down to the stream. The movement makes my leg throb, but it's nothing I can't handle. Filling up the water bottles, I keep my eyes on the cave, occasionally casting them around to see if anyone is approaching. So far the coast is clear.

After cleaning the cloth, I rinse the blood from my hands, I grab everything and run back up into the cave. Rationally, I know no one had even stepped foot near here, but it still relieves me to see Katniss cuddled in the sleeping bag, right where she was when I left. I place everything back on the ground, and right as I do, the anthem starts. I stay near the mouth of the cave to see if there were any deaths today.

Clove's face appears in the sky and gives me an answer. I walk back to where Katniss is and sit next to her, taking a sip from the water bottle, when I feel a familiar ache in my stomach. I'm hungry, I realize. With a laugh, I look at Katniss, "I'm hungry! I'm… really going to live. Thanks to you."

I grab her bag and take out something she's been trying to make me eat – the groosling. Before, I thought it smelled revolting. Now it smells delicious. I eat three pieces of it before I'm even close to satisfied, then finish off one of the bottles of water. With a sigh, I lean back, automatically reaching a hand down to stroke through her hair.

For the first time in the entire Hunger Games so far, I feel hopeful. I'm healing. Katniss is going to get better. And we're the only team of two left. Effie's voice echoes in my head. I look down at Katniss and say, "The odds are ever in our favor."

I can't help myself. I start to laugh. Everything is going to be okay. We're okay. We have each other. I sit in the silence, combing through Katniss' hair for another hour before I feel her start to shiver. I look down at her, and she's curled into a ball facing me, shaking. What else is there to wrap her with in here? I reach down and her skin feels like ice.

Again, the concern is clawing through me. I do the only thing I can think of, and lift her into my lap. She's so tiny, I think, especially curled into her little protective ball. She fits right on my lap. I draw the sleeping bag tighter around her, and unzip my jacket, pulling her even closer so she's resting against my chest and I wrap my jacket around the both of us.

Slowly, her shivering comes to an end and I stroke my hand down her hair, whispering things that I know she can't hear, but it does make _me_ feel better to talk. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're all right. Yeah, you're okay. I've got you."

Even when her shivering ceases, I keep her in my lap, stroking her hair. It's been hours since I woke up to find her like this. The silence is driving me crazy. So I start to talk. Saying nothing, really, but at the same time it's everything.

"I'm an artist, you know. I've never showed any of my family members or friends my drawings, except for my grandma. She taught me how to draw. Aside from her, I've been too embarrassed to show anyone else. But if we get home – _when_ we get home – if you want to see them sometime, I'll show you."

"I think what I miss most about home is the bakery. I had to work there, but I loved it anyway. Baking, decorating the cakes… it's the only thing I'm _really_ good at. You, you're good at a bunch of things. Me, I only have my baking. Well, I'd say I'm pretty fair at drawing, and maybe even painting with a bit of practice. Regardless, I'm at home in the kitchen."

"When we go home, we'll be neighbors, you know. We'll both live in Victor's Village – with Haymitch. That should be interesting. You and Haymitch really are alike. That stunt you pulled with the sleeping syrup, it's the same thing he would do. Clearly, he was the one who sent it, after all."

This goes on all night, sometimes falling into lapses of silence, just waiting for her to wake up. I have to actively sit on my hands to stop myself from peeling back her bandages and taking another look at her forehead. Maybe it's worse than I'd thought it was. Shouldn't she be awake by now? But I make myself sit tight.

By the time the sun is up the next morning, there's a drizzle coming down outside. I move Katniss off my lap for the first time since last night and walk to the mouth of the cave. In the short time it takes me to get there, the storm is in full swing. A Gamemaker's storm, I think, but for who? It can't be to draw out Katniss and myself.

I turn back around and before I take a step, I feel a cold drip of water on the top of my head. Looking around, I note that it's in several places in the cave. Of course, there are holes between the rock made roof. None of it is dripping onto Katniss, yet, but I don't want to take any chances. I remember seeing a bit of folded up plastic in her bag when I was looking for food, so I dig it out and open it in front of me. It's big enough…

It only takes me minutes to shift around the rocks above us so that the bit of plastic is covering Katniss' head and upper body. I settle my hands on my hips and evaluate my handiwork. Looks good. It should hold up.

I sit back down next to her, and she's settles onto her stomach now. I rest my hand on her back and rub in circles. Nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

**I love Peeta. I love writing scenes with him that aren't described in the book, so this one makes me particularly happy.**

**Thanks for reading, please review and tell me what you think :)  
**


	19. The Storm in the Cave

I'm still sitting next to her, my hand rubbing those circles on her back when I hear it. She makes a small noise, a groan, and burrows down deeper into the covers. I can tell by the way her breathing has changed that she's awake. The excitement pounding through me is enough to make me stand up and cheer, but that's not what Katniss needs right now. With a head wound, it'll probably just disorient her.

So I move my hand from her back to her cheek and stroke it, "Katniss. Katniss can you hear me?" I see her eyes open and look at me in alarm for a moment, before she settles back down and says my name.

"Hey." Her eyes flicker around, then back to me and I never thought I'd be so relieved to see a pair of eyes again. I've been telling myself she'll wake up for the day she's been blacked out, but there was still a little part of me that had to see it to believe it. "It's good to see your eyes again."

She asks me how long she's been out, but all I know is that it's been a full day since I woke up to find her like that. I don't have any idea how long she was there before yesterday. I just tell her what I know.

She lifts her hand to her head, and even that small movement makes her look sick. What did she do for me when I had that look? I don't remember everything about when I was lying in her position, but I think I'll always remember how much food and water she tried to get into me. I don't want to try the food just yet, because I know I didn't welcome it. But she needs water anyway, because she hasn't drank in days.

Before she even settles back down, I have one of the water bottles pressed to her lips. I think it's a good sign when she drinks a lot. Then she looks at my leg and says, "You're better."

I explain to her about how the swelling has been down and how the medicine she got really worked. She nods, and asks if I ate.

I send a guilty look at the bag. While sitting here waiting for Katniss to wake up, I realized it was probably a bad idea to eat that much. With her head injured and this rain, who knows how long it'll be before we can go out and get more food? Because of how much I ate earlier, I haven't let myself eat anything out of what's left of our supply all day. I tell her this.

In response, she alleviates some of my guilt by saying it was good that I ate, but I still am annoyed at myself for eating so much when we have so little. She says she'll go hunting soon, but her statement just makes me worry even more. She shouldn't be going out and hunting anytime soon when she's injured like she is. "Just let me take care of you for a while."

And because I don't want her to argue with me, I hand her the bottle of water, "Here, drink some more while I get some food. Are you hungry enough to eat?"

When she nods, I go through the bag. Groosling, she seems really fond of that, and she kept trying to make me eat it when I was sick, so it has to be good, right? I take that and a handful of raisins out of the bag and turn back to her. It seems like lifting the water bottle is making her even more tired, so I feed her the food. Another good sign, I think, that she's hungry.

After she eats, I'm capping the water bottle when I notice her shaking again, "Are you cold?"

It is cold in here, but she's under the sleeping bag, which is usually very hot. She answers, "My feet. They're freezing."

I unzip the sleeping bag and kneel at the foot of it, taking her feet and laying them in my lap. Her toes are like ice. I alternate taking one foot, then the other, and holding them in my hands, rubbing them. After a while, her feet warm up, but I can't just tuck them back in the sleeping bag like this. Oh! My jacket. I take it off and wrap it around her feet. It's cold in here, but she needs it more than I do. Then I tuck her back into the sleeping bag and tell her about how her boots and socks, which I've been checking on periodically, are still wet.

The storm outside grows more violent and I ask if Katniss knows who it was meant for. Without even hesitating she tells me, "Cato and Thresh." She deduces that the girl from District 5 will be off hiding somewhere. Then she tells me that Clove was the one who cut her.

Of course it was Clove. Her and her damn stupid knives. I tell her that Clove is dead, because maybe it'll make her feel better, knowing that the girl who caused her such pain isn't going to do it again. And then the thought occurs to me, "Did you kill her?" I haven't even thought about it so far, but I wonder if Katniss has actually killed anyone here. It wouldn't be odd if she did, after all, my reluctance to kill in these Games is the exception, not the rule.

But she says, "No. Thresh broke her skull with a rock."

The very idea of it makes me sick. I know killing can't be helped, and there have been worse kills that have happened in the Hunger Games, but I still don't like it. I imagine what Thresh would have done if he'd gotten his hands on Katniss. No. I can't let myself think like that. All I say in response is, "Lucky he didn't catch you, too."

She shakes her head, informing me, "He did. But he let me go." What? Things like that are unheard of in the Hunger Games. You don't let people go; you kill them. I guess my bewilderment is clear, because Katniss says, "Well, he did it for Rue."

Rue? The little District 11 girl… but, "I still don't understand."

With a deep breath she rushes through a story, telling me of all her adventures and escapades. I learn of Fitch's fate, what happened to little Rue. My stomach sinks. That's how Fitch met his end, then. Cato's bare hands. But at least it was quick. Unlike Rue.

Katniss continues, "Rue… she climbed on the trees… it was like she could fly." Her voice cracks now and I want to move her into my lap again and stroke her hair, but I know she doesn't want that comfort. She just wants to tell her story.

All I do is put a hand on her back, and rub a bit. She pauses and says, "District 11 sent me bread. I put flowers in Rue's hair. I think it was a thank you. Anyway. Thresh heard Clove talking about Rue dying at the Cornucopia, and that was what drove him out to kill her. When he heard that Rue and I were allies, he let me live. It was an exchange."

Wait a second. My brow raises as I ask, "He let you live because he didn't want to owe you anything?" That makes no sense. Good deeds are just good deeds… why does it have to be an exchange?

"Yes." She tells me, in a tone I've never heard before, "I don't expect you to understand it. You've always had enough. If you'd lived in the Seam I wouldn't have to explain."

That's not an explanation. Maybe I'd understand if she'd give me a chance to. "And don't try. Obviously I'm too dim to get it."

She rolls her eyes, "It's like the bread. How I never seem to get over owing you for that."

Bread? "The bread? What?" What the heck is she talking about? I've never… oh. "From when we were kids?" Owing me? She doesn't owe me anything. I did what any decent person would do, and I'd do it for anyone. The fact that it was Katniss out there starving just made it that much more urgent. Once again, I wonder: why can't nice things just be taken as good gestures? The best way to repay kindness is to be kind to others in turn. That's what my father's always taught me. But I just say, "I think we can let that go. You just brought me back from the dead."

She just doesn't grasp why I gave her the bread, and she's asking me why. "Why?" I say, "You know why." She does know; I announced it during my interview with Caesar Flickman. When she shakes her head at me, I remember one of Haymitch's gems of wisdom: she's going to take a lot of convincing. I say it out loud.

The confusion is written all over her face as she asks, "Haymitch? What's he got to do with it?"

I sigh and mutter, "Nothing." Because he doesn't. 'It' has all to do with Katniss and myself. Forget kindness for goodness' sake. I want to shake her and yell _Because I loved you even then! Even then, a life without you in it was not a good one!_ But I just change the subject, and say that I hope Thresh and Cato destroy each other. Even with Katniss and I teamed up against either of them alone, it'll still be a tough battle.

I stare ahead of me for a minute, silence infiltrating the cave. When I look back at Katniss, I see tears in her eyes. "What's the matter? Are you in a lot of pain?"

When she looks up at me, I swear she looks almost eleven again. Her voice is more vulnerable than I've ever heard it before when she says, "I want to go home, Peeta."

It's enough to break my heart, and I bend down to kiss her, assuring her that she will be home. I'll do anything and everything in my power to see that it happens, even if it means fighting both Thresh and Cato to the death with my bare hands. I swipe my hand through her hair, seeing the sleepiness in her eyes, and tell her to go to sleep and dream of home.

She tells me to wake her up when I get tired, and I agree, even though I know I'm not going to wake her up at all. I'm still rested from the sleep syrup, which despite its sickly sweet taste, actually does leave you incredibly refreshed. As Katniss cuddles down next to me, I think about how I already feel like I am home. Here, with Katniss, in the respite of the storm, all we need to do is worry about each other. That's home.

I let her rest for hours, until the sun is going down, before my stomach is groaning nonstop and I just need to eat again. But I don't want to without her. So I wake her, and after we eat, we make plans to go out and get food tomorrow, and then talk about our opponents. But all that's really on my mind is more food. I'm still hungry, and I say, "I wonder what it would take to get Haymitch to send us some bread."

Katniss gets this look in her eye that I can't quite put my finger on as she says, "Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out."

I think that now is the proper time to tell her, "Yeah, about that. Don't try something like that again." I take her hand in mine, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. I'm not mad anymore, because it's hard for me to hold a grudge. But this still needs to be said.

She raises a brow, "Or what?"

Yeah, Peeta, or what? I try to think of something, some threat to give, but I don't want to threaten Katniss, because I'd never be able to hurt her anyway. I'm still trying to think of something to say when she smiles and says, "What's the problem?"

The problem is that we're both fine, both living, which only makes her think that she did the right thing and that she should to the same thing in the future should a similar situation arise. When I tell her this, she only responds by saying, "I did do the right thing."

The anger I let go of comes flooding back, and my hand tightens on hers. I want her to get the message. If she dies, even – no, _especially_ – trying to help me, how could I ever live with myself? I don't want to live in a world without Katniss. My voice is tight when I say, "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors."

She starts to say something, and I can hear the anger in her voice as she responds. But any thoughts of arguing with her fly out the window when she starts saying that she maybe she was saving me for her. I think I can literally hear my heart singing. She loves me back. That's what this means. It has to. Maybe not love, but she risked her life because she doesn't want to live in a word without Peeta.

I need to hear her say the words. She cares about me to. Just say it, Katniss, I silently encourage for a moment when she stops speaking. I urge her softly, "If what, Katniss?"

She lies, I can tell it's a lie, when she answers, "That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of."

But I don't push it. "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself." And, for the first time, I initiate a kiss between us. But something is different about this kiss, even more so than the fact that I'm the one who started it. Every time Katniss kisses me, my world is better. Every time her lips are on mine, I want more. I'd always welcome a second kiss, a caress; anything that would farther our intimacy, I'd welcome it. But this time, Katniss is hungry for more, too. She's not timid like she was before.

But she's not completely healed from her injury, and I can't take advantage. When we have something more than that first kiss, I want us both to be buzzing with life. I force myself to draw back and I plant a kiss on the tip of her cute little nose, how it scrunches up when she's confused like she is right now.

It's then that I realize the bandage on her head is becoming darker. Shivering from the cold, I curse myself. It was a mistake to keep her sitting up for so long, regardless how much we were both enjoying it. I tell her it's time to go to sleep now, but before she'll close her eyes she asks, "How dry are my socks?"

Reaching over, I take them in my hands, "Not bad. A little damp."

Before I can stop her, she unzips the sleeping bag and takes my jacket off her feet, taking the socks from me. "They're fine. Take your jacket, you must be freezing."

I want to argue, but I really can't, because I _am_ freezing. Then she crawls out of the bag and tells me to get in, "I'll take first watch," she tells me.

I climb into the bag but don't zip it up. She's only been out of the bag for less than a minute and she's already shaking from the cold. I hold the top open, "You can take first watch, but only if you climb in here with me." When she starts to object, I say, "Katniss, you're shivering."

She agrees, and climbs in with me. We zip up the bag and I stretch out, laying on my side, facing her. She's keeping her head awkwardly elevated and it makes me want to laugh. I just urge her down to lay on my arm. I put my arm across her waist, and even as I fall asleep, there's a smile on my face.

A few hours later, she wakes me. I'm still tired, but she can't even keep her eyes open, so I lie in the same place, just stroking her hair. When we get home can this continue? She's not involved with Gale or anyone else, and she has feelings for me, so why can't it? Maybe this wasn't the ideal way to start a relationship, but that changes nothing.

I stay like this until morning when she wakes up. We both stare dismally out of the cave; the rain isn't getting any better. Katniss would have trouble going out hunting with her head wound in a bright and shiny day, let alone in this weather.

But the pangs in my stomach are so painful I feel like I'm going to pass out. I know Katniss is having the same pains, and I don't think I can stand sitting in this cave like this, doing nothing while we starve. I tell her, "I'll go out and find something. Those berries, some grains… whatever there is."

"Peeta, no. You wouldn't be able to see three feet in front of your face out there." I know she's right, so I don't argue the point.

But it doesn't change the fact that we're both ravenous, and this silence isn't helping. All either of us is doing is thinking about food, which only makes the hunger worse. Where are you when we need you Haymitch? What is he doing? Enjoying watching us starve? Is he too drunk to know what's going on right now?

Katniss surprises me by asking about the day I realized I fell in love with her. The memory of the first day of school overtakes me, and I forget the worst of my hunger as I'm taken back to eleven years ago.

I was so nervous, that first day. My brothers told me horrific tales of school, about how the girls would make fun of you, the teachers didn't let you go to the bathroom, and the older boys picked on picked on the younger ones and took their lunch. But my father took time off at the bakery to walk me to school, and he told me my brothers were just trying to scare me. It calmed me down a little, but it wasn't until he knelt down and pointed somewhere in the distance that I was fully distracted. "See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner."

I couldn't believe it. Her mother chose a _coal miner_ over my father. My father was the best man in the world. He was Superman. I asked disdainfully, "A coal miner? Why would he want a coal miner when she could've had you?"

My father gave me a sad smile, "Because when he sings… even the birds stop to listen."

I was convinced that meant nothing. Who cares that the birds stop to sing? My father can make bread! My father is a _merchant_ not some coal miner. I glared at the little girl with her double braids in the red plaid dress all day, up until music class. I sat right behind her, watching the sun from the open windows glint off her dark hair. Everyone I knew had blonde hair. This dark hair was something new to me, and hers was so… pretty.

Then she stood up in front of me and started to sing. Standing on her stool, the sun haloing around her, all of the birdsong stopped, and they came to flutter outside the window. They were enchanted, and so was I. That was it for me.

"And right when your song ended, I knew – just like your mother – I was a goner. For the next eleven years I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you."

I don't know whether or not she's joking when she adds on, "Without success."

I agree, "Without success." There were some days where I woke up, determined to walk right up to her, and ask to carry her books. On some other days, I planned to walk her home. I never went through with any of them. There was a day, last year, that I worked up my confidence all day, and I was two feet – _two feet_ – from Katniss when she and Gale Hawthorne started walking together. And my confidence was shot. Until the reaping. Since then, my dream of being with Katniss has come true, "So, in a way, my name being drawn at the reaping was a real piece of luck." _Because, even with all of the heartache it's caused, these Hunger Games gave me you._

As she tells me that I have a good memory, it feels so natural to tuck a piece of stray hair behind her ear and say, "I remember everything about you." Thinking of all the times I watched her while she watched something – everything – else, I add, "You were the one who wasn't paying attention."

Her eyes pierce my soul as she says, "I am now."

My mind jumps to Gale and I say, "Well, I don't have much competition here."

She visibly swallows, and her eyes dart from my eyes to my lips and she sends my heart soaring, erasing all thoughts of Gale Hawthorne, saying, "You don't have much competition anywhere."

Anticipation is sharp as she leans in to me. I just get a whisper of contact and think _this has to be the best thing that's ever happened_, when a sound from outside makes us both jump. Katniss arms herself and I get up and walk to see what it was. It didn't sound like a person walking to us, so what – my breath leaves me in a shout. Haymitch really came through. He's not stinking drunk, letting us starve. He's working! It's a basket, I step out into the rain and grab it. Food.

I bring it back in and hand it to Katniss, saying, "I guess Haymitch finally got tired of seeing us starve." I don't catch Katniss' response, because I think maybe Haymitch sent this food as a congratulatory gesture to me. I got through to her about how much I love her – I convinced her. _And_ she feels something back.

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**I hope you enjoyed! Please review!**


	20. Aftermath of the Storm

I want to grab everything I can get my hands on from this food basket and cram it into my mouth. Ease the hunger pains that have been attacking me for hours, just _dig in_. When I look at Katniss, I can see that this is what she wants to do as well. But I don't. My hands are already reaching for the food when I order myself to make them fall into my lap.

This food is precious, I tell myself, and we might have to ration it. Not only that, but I flash back to the night on the train, the first night of the rest of my life, and how sick I made myself by gorging on all of that food. And I was still a well-fed healthy guy when that went down. As I see Katniss reaching for the food, I remind her of the train, and how we should eat slowly and steadily.

She agrees, and we divvy up what we determine to be acceptable portions. I watch as Katniss makes herself take small, deliberate bites, and I know I should do the same thing. But I can't help eating the half of an apple and the stew and the rice quickly. The pangs I'm been getting for hours dull, and eventually, between the helpings of rice and the stew, stop.

Even though I'm still ravenous, I pick up the roll – and simply hold it for a moment. Bread. It's District 12 bread. I'd know it anywhere. The rest of this feast may have been made in the Capitol, but this was baked at home. Right in the bakery, in my father's hands. Bread that I was raised on. This small roll, more than any medicine or death count or other food, fills me with hope.

Slowly, I tear piece by piece off the roll, savoring the familiar taste as it slides down my throat. After having this bread day after day, every day of my life, I never fathomed that I would miss it. How wrong I was.

When it's gone, though the pains in my stomach are as well, I'm still hungry. Katniss looks up at me, and what I'm feeling is reflected in her eyes. I know she's still hungry, like I am, even before she tells me, "I want more."

I'm well aware of the feeling. But I know neither of us should eat more right now; we should make sure we can manage what we've already eaten first. "Me, too. Tell you what. We wait an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving."

Even as the words leave my mouth, I'm questioning them. What makes me think I will be able to wait an hour? Katniss and I are on the same wavelength with this, and she says, "Agreed." And adds on after a pause, "It's going to be a long hour."

Truer words have never been spoken. Breaking down from my hour-long-wait-rule I say, "Maybe not that long." But we're still going to have to wait for a while. And if there's one thing I've learned in the past day, hunger is easier to ignore if we're engaged in conversation. "What was that you were saying just before the food arrived?" Actually, we were about to kiss. There's no way I'm forgetting that. I continue to make leading statements, one that make it clear I'm fishing for how she feels about me. "Something about me… no competition…" My next idea ignites a spark, and I grin as I say, "Best thing that ever happened to you…"

That was unashamed fishing. I know Katniss has a hard time admitting her feelings, but maybe if I help her out a little, she'll be able to say them herself. No such luck. But I do think I see a blush creeping up on her cheeks as she says that she doesn't remember saying that last thought.

Oh, well. It was worth a try. I explain to her that those were _my_ thoughts, and tell her to scoot over in the sleeping bag because I'm freezing. But as I squeeze in with her and wrap my arms around her, I know that I wasn't all that cold; I just wanted to be sitting like this, with her, again. With her leaning against me, my arms around her, I feel like the strongest man in the world. When we're like this, I feel like Katniss actually needs and wants me around her. I don't even think she's aware of her actions as she starts stroking her hand up and down my arm. It feels good.

I settle back and close my eyes, just ready to drift along on the coast between awake and sleep as Katniss' voice draws me into the 'awake'. "So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?"

A laugh wells up and demands to be escaped, but she sounds so serious that I make myself squelch it. Not noticed any other girl? I'm a sixteen-year-old guy; of course I've noticed other girls. I've developed crushes on some, the memorable ones being Jayma Hoffman, Harper Crispin, and Neela Petram. These were the girls who I'd taken on my first date, received my first kiss from, and who had been my first girlfriend, respectively. But none of them mattered to me the way Katniss did. It was because of that fact that I'd always broken off my relationships with any girl relatively quickly. Because if I thought of Katniss, the girl I've never even spoken to, more than my own girlfriend, I was being unfair to whoever the girlfriend at the time was.

It was no one's fault but my own that I ended up comparing everyone's eyes and hair to Katniss'. None of the shades of blue and blonde that all of the girls I've dated ever came close to captivating me like Katniss' did. Those girls never went against anything I did or said, never told me their own opinions, and all it made me think was that Katniss wouldn't mindlessly agree with anyone.

I don't answer her in detail about the girls, because they never really mattered and because I don't want to embarrass them in front of all of Panem. All I say is, "No. I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you." Which is completely true.

She catches me off guard once more, saying, "I'm sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam."

I guess I've never really thought of that before. I've never had to. Back home, Katniss was just my ultimate fantasy girl; unattainable. But now that I'm thinking about it, I have to stop another chuckle from escaping. Thrilled? I wouldn't exactly say so. "Hardly. But I couldn't care less."

My father, he'd be the most willing to accept Katniss, out of all my family members. He'd have been resistant in the beginning, but he's the one who taught me to believe in true love. Plus, he'd definitely be open to her now that he's seen her here in the Games, after she cared for me. My brothers would never understand. They firmly believe people from the Seam belong with other people from the Seam, and people from town belong with people from town. But Katniss is funny, which would appeal to both my brothers. In the long run, they'd overlook her background.

Then there's my mother. She would, under no circumstances, be accepting of Katniss. She uses three main insults or incentives to make my brothers and I do things: "You're all pigs!", "You're an imbecile!", and – her _favorite_ – "You aren't Seam trash!" Whenever our beds aren't made, whenever our clothes are rumbled, when our hair isn't combed, we are Seam trash. All my mother thinks about people from the Seam is that they're dirty, poor, and all looking for a handout. But, really, who cares about what my mother thinks? The only reason my brothers and I do is because of her, effective, form of punishment.

I don't say any of this to Katniss, though, instead all I say is, "Anyway, if we make it back you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from Victor's Village."

We sit in silence for a moment, and I wonder if what I said offended her. But then she starts making jokes about Haymitch, and I know she didn't take what I said about my family to heart. I make puns back to her, and I know this is the way we should be. In each other's arms, talking, laughing. I'm thinking I could spend my whole life just like this when Katniss asks me, "How do you think he did it?"

Huh? "Who? Did what?"

She specifies, "Haymitch. How do you think he won the Games?"

Oh. I once asked my father about Haymitch, when I was thirteen. He'd stumbled into the bakery while my mom and Lucern were working the front, and my father and I were in the kitchen. She put on a smile for him, because she's nice to customers who come in and spend money regularly. But as soon as he was gone, all she muttered under her breath was, "Drunk fool. Good for nothing slob." Because my mother knows everyone's business, she knows who can spend the most money in the bakery. Haymitch is one of few people who can afford to get special order baked goods, but he never orders them. That's the _real_ reason mother doesn't like Haymitch, but we all let her think we believe she doesn't like him because he's a drunk.

I asked my dad, "Why is he always so drunk? He's rich. He can do whatever he wants."

My dad sighed and continued to knead his bread for a moment before saying, "I think Haymitch is a very sad man. Being rich doesn't automatically make you happy, Peeta."

"I know that." But it still didn't make much sense, "But… shouldn't he be tough? I mean, he won the Hunger Games. How did he do that if he can't deal with being sad?"

My father, ever reluctant to talk about the Hunger Games, sighed, "He was smart."

So that's what leads me to answer Katniss with, "He outsmarted the others."

There's no farther discussion on the matter, and we fall into silence again. But this time it's not full of hunger pains and constant thoughts of eating, even though I could still do with some food. Now it's just a comfortable silence.

I can feel Katniss growing more restless in my arms, and after a half hour or so, she wiggles away, "I think the food is going to stay down. We should have some more, don't you think?"

My hunger is still gnawing on my stomach, but I look doubtfully at the small amount of food we have left. How long is this supposed to last? Then again, how long are we supposed to last if we don't keep ourselves well-fed, "Yeah, let's eat. But small portions, not too much."

As Katniss makes herself busy with the food, the anthem starts to play. I do the same thing I've done every night in this cave, and look out at the sky, just to make sure we haven't missed a cannon or anything during the day. I don't think we have, but it's good to be sure. Then I see them project Thresh's face. So Cato really did get him. Katniss is speaking to me, but I don't know what she's talking about. "Katniss," I say.

She just keeps talking about food, so I turn from the mouth of the cave and train my eyes on her, saying her name once more. Finally, she looks at me questioningly. "Thresh is dead," I tell her.

Katniss takes the news worse than I thought she would. First, she's disbelieving, and when she sees for herself the projection of his face in the sky, she leans against the rocks weakly. This should be good news, but she and Thresh had a little connection. Over Rue. I tell myself that his death was necessary for Katniss' survival, but then I just think of how he was the one who let her go. He saved her, too. No doubt, Katniss is thinking the same thing. I ask, "You all right?"

She tries to shrug, as if to say it's no big deal, but then she hugs her arms to herself. The look on her face isn't one of someone who doesn't care – it's the look of someone who cares a great deal. Her voice is strained when she tells me that if we didn't win, then she wanted Thresh to.

"Yeah, I know." _Me, too_, I think, but I doubt that would make Katniss feel any better. I take her position, over by the food, and finish making her half-made plates. I need to keep myself busy so I don't think too much about Thresh's death, and Katniss needs to be distracted from the topic as well. As I make finish adding the amount of food I think is good for us to have as I try to get her looking on the bright side, "But this means we're one step closer to District Twelve." There, plates are done. I hand her one, "Eat. It's still warm."

As we eat, we talk about Cato and Foxface, but I'm more focused on distracting Katniss from Thresh's death than on the conversation. As the chatting dies off, I watch her as we eat. She needs to rest. I feel as though her hearing of Thresh's death tired her, so as we finish our food I say, "I'll take the first watch."

She doesn't voice an agreement or an argument, doesn't nod or shake her head, only snuggles into the sleeping bag, hiding her face. Hiding from me, from the camera, from the world. But hiding yourself from the world doesn't mean the world hides from you, Katniss. When you come out, everything will still be here waiting for you to pick it up. I want to say these words to her, even though I know she has to know hiding hardly helps at all. But I don't want her to hide; I want her to confide in me. I want to burrow into the sleeping bag with her, and we can both hide away from the world. Just for a little bit.

Instead I look away from her and out of the mouth of the cave. The rain is starting to slow. The Gamemakers have turned off the full blast storm, and into a mist. It's a nice change, I decide. Although, after all of this rain being the only aspect I've seen of the weather in days, almost anything is a nice change.

As the more time goes by, the hungrier I am. It can't be bad, I think, if I eat another roll. When I scoot over to the food supply, I realize there's really not much left. Half a roll, then. With some goat cheese on top. Katniss should have the other half. I look over at her, and seeing the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders, I sigh. She can catch a little more sleep before I wake her up. I settle back into my own position and eat the roll. Besides, I'm not _that_ tired.

But it's only an hour later when I find myself nodding off. Even though I'd like to let Katniss sleep a while longer, I'm no good to either of us if I'm falling asleep on watch duty. As somewhat of an apology/happy wake-up time gift, I take the other half of the roll and slather it in goat cheese before I wake her up.

She doesn't seem to mind when I wake her up, and digs into her roll. She seems to really enjoy the goat cheese, and I remember that her sister makes it. Where the roll represents some definition of home to me, the goat cheese does the same thing for her. Another thing we have in common.

As I climb into the sleeping bag, I tell her about the goat cheese and apple tart we make at the bakery. She says that it must be expensive and, indeed, it is. The only people I've ever seen buy it are the mayor and once, strangely, Haymitch. It's delicious, though, even when it's stale. The thought prompts me to say, "Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale." I pull the sleeping bag around my chin and add, "Of course, practically everything we eat is stale." Even as I drift off to sleep, I feel like I can hear my mother cursing me out for saying that in front of all of Panem. _"Damn it, Peeta! Have you no manners? You stupid pig, talking about our family's private life on national television."_ The echoing words tug the corners of my lips up into a smile as I fall asleep.

As my shoulder is being shaken to wake me, I feel better than I have in days. I'm not starving, I'm warm, the rain has stopped. And the first thing I see when I open my eyes is Katniss. What a welcome sight to have. Even before I'm fully awake, I pull her down until her lips meet mine. Best way to start a day, ever.

By the time she draws away, I'm fully awake and alert. She tells me, "We're wasting hunting time."

I raise my arms up and stretch. Wasting? A kiss we share should never be called a waste. "I wouldn't call it wasting." I sit up and rest a hand on my stomach. I'm not nearly as hungry as I've been for the past two days, but I could still go for some food. But it's hunting day. I've never been hunting; maybe it's better to hunt on an empty stomach. I ask Katniss.

She gives me an answer that satisfies me immensely – we're going to stuff ourselves – and then I watch her prepare our breakfast plates. When she said we were going to be eating enough to stuff ourselves, I thought she meant something along the lines of what we had for dinner last night. But this plate she hands me is full with half of all the food we have left. "All this?"

Katniss tells me, "We'll earn it back today." If she says so, I'll believe it. We both dig in. It's only minutes later – ten tops – when both of our plates are cleared of any food we can pick up with our forks. Katniss handles this by dropping her fork and scraping up whatever is left on her plate with her finger, then makes a joke about what Effie would think.

"Hey Effie, watch this!" I joke, and throw my fork over my shoulder. I'm laughing even as I bring my plate to my mouth and lick it. It's the strangest thing to do, it'd never be allowed in my house at home, which just makes me laugh all the more. Lifting my head from the plate, I blow an exaggerated kiss out to no one – but surely it's directly into a Game camera – and tell Effie that I miss her.

Katniss jokingly leans over and covers my mouth, trying to hush me by saying, "Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave."

I reach up and take her hand in mine, all traces of laughter gone as I pull her to me and say, "What do I care? I've got you to protect me now." And she's got me. She weakly protests that we should get hunting, but as our lips meet, everything is just so right.

We gather up everything and climb out of the cave. Katniss looks at our surroundings, and I stare back into the little shelter that's been ours for days. The cave of dreams, I'd called it before. We'll never be returning. I make myself look away, as this is no time to get sentimental over something so small. I direct my mind to our most immediate, and pressing, problem. It goes by the name of Cato.

"He'll be hunting us down by now," I tell Katniss. Vividly remembering that first night here, with that girl from District 8, how Cato just saw the smoke from her fire, and he went charging into the woods, my throat tightens and I add, "Cato isn't one to wait for his prey to wonder by."

Katniss looks at me, "If he's wounded –"

I cut her off because she doesn't know Cato like I know Cato. "It doesn't matter. If he can move, he's coming."

Katniss accepts this at face value, and after we fill up our water bottles in the stream, she tells me we're going to have to go back to where she was before to hunt. I'm not hunter, so I agree, and am given simple tasks, like watch out, listen, and try to step on rocks as much as possible. Okay, I can do those things.

She leads the way and I follow, looking and listening for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. Katniss is clearly in her element, and I'm just doing my best to follow. There's no talking, which I understand, so we don't scare away any animals or attract Cato. I can't help but compare Katniss' work out hunting to mine in the bakery. We're both doing the same thing, in a way – providing food and money for our families. But Katniss moves lightly and quickly, always on her guard. Back in the bakery, I'm usually in the kitchen with either my dad or one of my brothers, and all we do is talk. If not talking, humming, whistling, and, one strange time when my brothers and I were the only ones working on an extremely slow business day, singing a three-way duet.

The memory brings a smile to my face as Katniss comes to a stop, then turns and glares at me. What is it? What happened? "What?"

I can tell she's irritated with me even though she's trying to hide it as she says, "You've got to move more quietly. Forget about Cato, you're scaring off every rabbit in a ten-mile radius."

I am? "Really?" I look down at my feet, then at the smooth trail behind me, to see if I had been stepping on anything that would cause me to be louder. Nothing there. Even without trying to, I've messed up her hunt. "Sorry. I didn't know."

Okay, time for stealth. Try to recall those times where you, Lucern, and Thyler played sneak attack in the backyard. As Katniss takes the lead once more, I step gingerly, placing the tip of my boot down and then lowering the heel. I have to be making practically no noise by doing this, right?

It turns out I'm wrong. Not too much later, Katniss spins around and asks, "Can you take your boots off?"

I look at the muddy ground, covered in pine needles. She wants me to take my boots off right now? Looking back up at her, I recognize the incredulity in my own voice as I ask, "Here?"

She takes a deep breath and I can tell she's fighting for patience. If it really means that much to her, of course I'll take off my boots. But I thought I was being quiet… Even before I can toe off my first boot, Katniss says, "Yes. I will too. That way we'll both be quieter."

I know she's only doing this for my benefit, as she clearly wasn't making any noise. Nonetheless, if she thinks it'll help, this is her area of expertise and I'm the one slowing her down. So we both take off the boots and are soundless once more. I hear nothing except for the sounds the river makes as we walk along with it, and it must just be rotten luck we've come across no animals. I've definitely managed to make my walking inaudible, as I'm only walking on the balls of my feet now.

But as time passes, I can tell that Katniss is only getting more irritated with me by the tenseness in her shoulders, and the way she looks like she's barely holding herself back from snapping at me. I'm still not aware of this sound I'm making, but to an experienced hunter I guess it's terrible. There is really only one solution, and I say it aloud, "Katniss, we need to split up. I know I'm chasing away game."

She's reaching to be nice about it as she says, "Only because your leg's hurt."

We both know that's not why I'm loud – it's because I have no training and, who knows, maybe I was just destined to be a loud walker. But if she's going to be kind enough to phrase it like that, I'm going to keep it going. "I know. So why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful." And then I won't be the jerk who's making these Games even more difficult for you.

Her voice is harsh as she says, "Not if Cato comes and kills you."

For the first time in a while, when I feel somewhat of an inappropriate laugh rising in my throat, I let it out. Cato just doesn't scare me as much as he used to. Not when I think about how much I've already survived despite his efforts. "Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn't I?" Even though I nearly died of leg infection, that's not the point. The point is that I lived in spite of it, and that was when I'd accepted the fact that I was going to die. Now I have something to live for: a life with Katniss.

It's obvious she's placating me when she says, "What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?"

I really am genuinely touched that she's worried about my safety, but I don't need to be coddled. I need to be helpful. I mock her placating tone, "What if you show me what's edible around here, and you go get us some meat?" But since Cato has a certain taste for Katniss' blood, I add on, "Just don't go far in case you need help."

She sighs, but gives in. Scouting her eyes on the ground, she spots a plant. We both kneel next to it and she shows me the positions I should have my hands in and the way I should take the root out of the ground. She shows me an example, and does it perfectly. There's a reason she's so good at providing for her family.

Finally, she stands and brushes off her hands, "And to keep in contact, every minutes or so we whistle back and forth to each other. Like this." Before I tell her that I know how to whistle, she demonstrates what she wants me to do. Start the whistle out low for one beat, then for the second note, notch it up high.

When she finishes it, she looks at me expectantly. I mimic the whistle, and ask, "Is that right?"

"Yes. Okay, now keep it going until I get back. If you don't hear me whistle back, you come get me, and if I don't hear you, I'll do the same." She nods and settles the quiver of arrows over her shoulder.

"You're the boss." Not long after I've said the words does she disappear into the trees. Okay, roots. Roots. I look around in the area and realize there have got to be at least twenty or thirty plants with the roots Katniss wants. I start to dig them up, and the first two I do come out in broken pieces. I sigh and throw them to the side. The third one is better, but not great. By the time I've dug up the fifth root, I have it down.

I keep an ear out to hear Katniss whistle every minute or so, and when I do, I respond. I don't want to initiate the whistle because what if I do right when she's about to get an animal and my whistle scares him off? Then, even though we split up, I'd still be making her life difficult. When my arms are full of roots, I place them in a neat pile next to the pack she left and look around.

What else can I do? Berries. I can pick berries, the same kind Katniss had before. There's a bush only a few feet away with dark, ripe berries. They look like replicas of the ones Katniss had in the cave, so I lay out our strip of plastic and pick the best berries the bush has to offer until the sheet of plastic is full.

Katniss still isn't back yet, but she whistled only a minute or two ago, so I assume she's still busy. I hate feeling this useless while she's out doing so much work. Standing, I walk through the brush that separates our new little camp from the stream. There's another berry bush not far away, and I figure it can't hurt to have more berries to munch on.

As I start to pick them, I'm not quite certain these are good to eat. They're bright red, but I'll just pick them and bring them back to Katniss to check. By the time my hands are full, I realize I haven't heard Katniss whistle in a while. I should head back to camp and see if she's there, then if she's not, I'll go out and find her.

As I push back through the bush, an arrow wings by me, lodging into the tree to my left. Holy god! My heart jumpstarts and I stumble backwards, dropping my newly picked berries as I look up at Katniss. She looks angry enough to spit nails and she heatedly says, "What are you doing? You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!"

My brow furrows. I was only a few feet away, and I hadn't heard her whistle in a while. I wasn't ignoring her. I gesture behind me, "I found some berries down by the stream."

I don't think she's ever been this angry at me, even when we were at the Capitol and she was annoyed at my every turn. She snaps, "I whistled. Why didn't you whistle back?"

Oh. "I didn't hear. The water's too loud I guess." It's not until I realize that if I had been the whistle initiator and I hadn't heard her respond, I'd be terrified to the point of panic. I walk over to her and put my hands on her shoulders, to reassure her that I'm still here and that I'm not going anywhere.

Now I hear the fright rather than the anger as she yells, "I thought Cato killed you!"

"No, I'm fine." This much is obvious, but I don't know what else I can do to assure her that I really am okay. I guess all I really can do is make her feel me, feel that I am all right. I gently slide my arms around her and pull her close. When she doesn't wrap her arms around me, only stands in the embrace as a nonparticipant, I say, "Katniss?"

Now she actively resists my embrace, and for the first time, pushes me away. It hurts, I'll admit, but I put myself into her shoes to understand where she's coming from. I don't know if I'd be this mad, but I would most certainly be upset. She glares at me as she says, "If two people agree on a signal they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn't answer, they're in trouble, all right?"

I don't think the blame for this whole out of range business should fall strictly on my shoulders. After all, I only went ten or so feet away from where I was originally. That means she went pretty far as well. But it's really not worth it to get into that, so all I say is, "All right!"

"All right." She says back to me, breaking eye contact as she says, "Because that's what happened with Rue, and I watched her die." Now she turns away toward the supplies.

Now I feel like scum. She told me the story of Rue, and their signals, and now I just made her relive the experience. I wish I could walk to her, put a comforting hand on her shoulder, console her, but right now I think she'd hack off my hand if I tried. She's still not facing me when she accuses, "And you ate without me!"

"What? No I didn't." This food is precious; I would never do that. Well, I did when we were in the cave, but I saved her the exact amount of what I ate so she could have it when she woke up. I''s entirely different than scarfing down food with no intention of telling her.

She scoffs, "Oh and I suppose the apples at the cheese."

Now I walk over to her and see that the cheese really is missing. What the heck happened to it? It was just here. I'm annoyed that Katniss would assume I would finish the goat cheese that she obviously loves without at least consulting her, but I remind myself that I just worried her and made her remember what happened with Rue, and I repeat that to myself, trying to school my annoyance into submission as I respond, "I don't know what ate the cheese but it wasn't me." Before I lose my temper, I change the subject because there must have been some animal that came along and took the cheese, and we'll really never know. "I've been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?"

She doesn't respond but I think that's just her anger preventing her from saying that she does want something I've offered. I watch her walk to the berries and pick some up, then wait for her to eat them but she doesn't. I walk over and look at them; they look exactly the same to me. I'm about to urge her to take some when the cannon goes off.

We both look up and see Foxface being lifted into the air. My heart rate spikes: Cato is near. He found Foxface and now he's on his way to get Katniss and myself. Katniss. Immediately, I take her by the arm and try to get her to a good, high tree, "Climb. He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him off from above." I really can't climb very well at all, but I'll try my hardest once Katniss is up, safe and high.

I don't know why, but Katniss isn't climbing at all. She's not even reaching for her weapons. Doesn't she see? She has to move! Cato isn't going to take any mercy. She looks at me, understanding written all over her face. She's utterly calm as she says, "No, Peeta. She's your kill. Not Cato's."

What the heck is she talking about? That makes no sense at all – I haven't killed anyone here. "What? I haven't even seen her since the first day. How could I have killed her?"

I stare at her in bewilderment because, as if it's an answer, she presents me with the berries I picked for us.

* * *

**We're drawing to an end here. Only like 5 more chapters, I think. Please review!**


	21. Run

Katniss drops the berries to the ground. "Those berries are poison, Peeta. They aren't the same kind Rue and I found. Foxface… she is a master thief. She was the reason I knew the Career's food supply was mined. When I was keeping watch on it after everyone there had left to investigate Rue's fire, Foxface appeared. She hopped between where all of the mines were, and stole their food. That's how she was feeding herself. She must have found us here and waited until you left to take some of the berries you picked and our cheese, then left."

It takes a moment for this to sink in. I wonder how she found us in this vast arena, and I voice this to Katniss. Then it dawns on me. "My fault, I guess, if I'm as loud as you say." And, considering the fact that Foxface found us so easily, I _am_ that loud.

It's obviously Katniss is just trying to make me feel better when she adds on, "And she's very clever, Peeta. Well, she was. Until you outfoxed her." Of course, Foxface was clever, but that really has nothing to do with being able to hear me coming from a mile away.

I feel sick with the way Katniss phrased that. It sounds like I _meant_ to fool Foxface, when really, I would've just as soon ate those berries. "Not on purpose. Doesn't seem fair somehow. I mean, we would have both been dead too if she hadn't eaten the berries first." Then I recall how Katniss held the berries in her hand, staring at them instead of eating them. She told me they were poison. She knew. "No, of course we wouldn't. You recognized them, didn't you?"

She nods, "We call them nightlock." I assume this means they grow in the woods outside of District 12, where she hunts.

I mutter, "Even the name sounds deadly." And I expected Katniss to eat them. It doesn't matter that I didn't know they were poison: I still intended for us to eat them. Guilt's long, dull, and painful claws dig into me. I can't help but apologize to her.

"Don't apologize. It just means we're one step closer to home, right?" I don't know if she's trying to cheer me up or not, but the statement does.

I need to do something with myself, not just stand here with my remorse eating away at me. It seems natural that my action should be to throw out the poison berries. As I pick up the plastic, I'm careful to make sure none of the berries fall out just in case anything could happen, as I quietly say, "I'll get rid of the rest."

I'm just about to toss the lot of them off into the woods when Katniss stops me by exclaiming, "Wait!"

Keeping the plastic secured in my hands, I turn to see her dig hurriedly through the pack and find a small pouch. She dashes over to me, and forces me to open the sheet. As soon as I do, she takes handfuls of berries and puts them into the pouch, explaining her plan to me, "If they fooled Foxface, maybe they can fool Cato as well. If he's chasing us or something we can act like we accidentally drop the pouch, and if he eats them –"

I cut her off as I've caught on, saying, "Than hello District Twelve." I'll admit, it's a farfetched plan, that Cato would stop to pick up a pouch that we drop, then take the time to eat from it when he'll undoubtedly be in a blind rage while chasing us. Then again, if on the off chance that it did happen, Cato isn't the brightest bulb in the box. So if this plan did work, he would most likely eat the berries. It's worth a shot.

We save some of the berries, and it doesn't occur to me for a few moments that he's most likely on his way here right now. I explain to Katniss, "If he's anywhere near by and saw that hovercraft, he'll know we killed her and come after us."

She doesn't seem too concerned about him finding us, as she just says, "Let's make a fire. Right now."

When I ask, "Are you ready to face him?" I mean it rhetorically, as I don't think anyone is really ever _ready_ to go up against Cato. He's more of the person who comes after you whenever he feels like, and it's always on his terms.

She explains her reasoning to me, and her reasoning that he knows we're both together and we are both feeling well enough to be out hunting Foxface, so by lighting a fire we're really inviting him to come fight us. She ends by asking, "Would you show up?"

"Maybe not." But I don't feel very sure that Cato won't. While I probably wouldn't show up in such a situation, Cato might. Comparing me and him wasn't so great, because we're so clearly different. I wouldn't go looking for a fight the way Cato would. Plus, Katniss' reasoning was very logical, and when Cato is on the hunt, he's not really very logical.

But Katniss is determined to build the fire to cook the food here. I brush her away and build it for her. This, at least, is one thing I can do to help her. There are a few times a year in the bakery where the ovens' automatic power shuts off, and we have to build the fire to cook the break ourselves. I wait anxiously as she cooks the meat, looking around at the woods surrounding us, silently willing Katniss to cook faster. The faster we get the food cooked, she faster we can get out of here and farther away from Cato.

It's not very long before the food is done, and even though Cato didn't show up, I still don't want to be here longer than need be. Katniss hands me a leg to eat and bites into her own, "Come on," she says, "Let's go farther into the woods before it gets too dark. We'll find a good tree, and spend the night up in it."

As she starts to head off into the tree, I stop her. "I can't climb like you, Katniss, especially with my leg, and I don't think I could ever fall asleep fifty feet above the ground." And if I did, I'd probably roll right out and break my neck. Katniss is like a little squirrel up those trees, and I know I would only frustrate her with my inability to keep up.

I can tell she's cross with me by the way she says, "It's not safe to stay in the open, Peeta." The tone of her voice tells me she's almost at the end of her rope.

It's all I can do to request, "Can't we go back to the cave?" Before she turns on me and snaps again, I back up why I want to go to the cave, "It's near water and easy to defend." Please let us go back to the safe haven again, for just one more night, I inwardly beg.

She sighs, and I know I haven't convinced her to go back. I haven't done anything helpful for her all day, really. She'd be better off without me here to hinder her. The moment we left the cave this morning I walked too loudly. I picked berries that, had she eaten, would have killed her, and now I'm screwing up the last plan she had for us. Way to go, Peeta. The only helpful thing I've done all day is kill off our competition – and that was a mistake.

I'm just about to tell her that I'll try to spend the night in a tree, when she cups my face in her hands and kisses me, before saying, "Sure. Let's go back to the cave."

My face breaks into a smile. I am so glad I don't have to spend the night in a tree, and she initiated a kiss between us. "Well, that was easy," I tease. We immediately get ready to head back to the cave; Katniss retrieves her arrow from the tree where she shot it and I put more wood on the fire just in case Cato actually does arrive here to find us.

The walk back to the cave is remarkably similar to the walk away from it. Katniss leads the way, bow loaded and standing at the ready in case Cato appears, and I try to make myself stay quiet behind her. I know, once again, that I'm failing, when Katniss suggests we walk in the stream so that we're quieter. I actually think this idea is a pretty good one, as I'm still pretty hot from the afternoon sun, and because I'll be happy to do anything Katniss says, especially after I've given her such a hard day.

But the walk back is extremely tiring. I didn't really realize how far we walked today, but it was certainly far. By the time the cave is even in sight, I'm yawning repeatedly and my eyelids are drooping. I'm sure Katniss has to be tired as well. When we reenter the cave, it's like a greeting, welcoming us back into its comfort.

We sit down, and I don't want to make Katniss be the one to stay awake for first patrol by herself tonight after I've been terrible to her all day, so I don't mention how sleepy I am as she starts making dinner. I can't even manage to keep my eyes open or strike up a conversation with her… all I want is to climb into that sleeping bag. Preferably with Katniss in my arms, but I doubt she's feeling too kind toward me at the moment.

I'm leaning against the rock wall and my eyes are closed, when I feel Katniss touch my arm. I force my eyes open and she gives me a small smile, "Peeta, you need to go to sleep."

I push myself off the wall, "No, it's okay. I'm awake. I can sit up with you." It's a weak protest even to my own tired ears.

She takes my hand and guides me to the sleeping bag, her voice gentle as she says, "I'm really not that tired. I'll wake you up when I am, and we'll switch. You just get some sleep."

I'm zipped up in the sleeping bag before I realize it, and I look up at her, meeting her gray eyes with mine as I whisper, "I'm sorry I'm so loud."

She lets out a snort of laughter, "I'm sorry, too. Just go to sleep." And, as I feel her hand brushing over my hair, I do.

I feel her shaking me awake, and my eyes snap open. I'm strangely more alert than I usually am during our usual shift. My gaze quickly goes to the mouth of the cave, where it's clear the sun is starting to rise. I push myself up, "I slept the whole night. That's not fair, Katniss, you should have woken me."

I climb out of the bag and hold it open for her. She crawls in and stretches, saying, "I'll sleep now. Wake me if anything interesting happens." She's out almost instantly. I remain sitting next to her, stroking her hair back from her face. The only way I'm waking her up is if Cato shows up. Otherwise she's going to get as much sleep as she needs.

She mutters a bit in her sleep, and I stroke my hand down her cheek, whispering, "Don't worry baby, I'm here." In her sleep, she turns her face into my hand and is quiet again. A smile plays on my lips as I look at her. Katniss Everdeen. Strong, brave, smart, funny, beautiful. Mine. After all of these years of being hers, she's mine in turn.

After a while, she turns onto her side and continues sleeping and I move to sit at the mouth of the cave. The sun is starting to blaze down, making the air crackle with heat. My mind goes to Foxface.

I killed her. I killed a girl. It doesn't matter if I meant to or not, I did it. And even though she would have had to die for Katniss and me to survive, I didn't want to be the one who killed her. I took a life yesterday, and I don't even know her real name. My tears come swiftly as I imagine Foxface's family. There must have been people out there who loved her, and thought she was really coming home. Those people must hate me.

I wipe my face with my sleeve and sniffle, and think _I'm sorry Foxface. I am so sorry._ Because it doesn't matter that I killed her on accident or that her death was a necessary evil. It doesn't change the fact that I'm sorry.

For the first time in this cave, I don't realize Katniss is awake until she speaks. "Any sign of our friend?"

I rub my eyes, trying to erase any sign of my tears because Katniss doesn't cry, and I don't want to worry her with my own baggage. I shake my head then turn around to face her, "No, he's keeping a disturbingly low profile." Which is frighteningly true. I told Katniss just yesterday that Cato isn't the type to just sit around and wait for someone to stumble upon him; he hunts. And yet we haven't heard a whisper of him.

Katniss is quiet for a moment before she asks me a question that I hadn't thought of. "How long until the Gamemakers drive us together?"

I can't believe I haven't thought of that. The Gamemakers have also been keeping a disturbingly low profile as of late. Really, the only time they've interfered in game play was with that fire and the smoke. I think about it for a moment before answering, "Well, Foxface died almost a day ago, so there's been plenty of time for the audience to place bets and get bored. I guess it could happen at any moment."

"Yeah, I have a feeling today's the day." Katniss says this as she sits up and looks out of the cave. "I wonder how they'll do it."

I was just wondering the same thing. There are really no good ideas I have as to what they could come up with. They're always rather fond of fire and water, and since they already used fire this year, that leaves water. I remember a few years ago how there was a flood. I'd die in a flood for certain, and so would Katniss. How would she know how to swim? But it's not like Cato's from a known "swimming" district, either, so hopefully they won't chance that. What else does that leave? Sending out some of their muttations? That doesn't seem very promising. Capitol muttations are terrifying creatures, and they're always unpredictable.

I feel that Katniss is trying to look on the brighter side when she says, "Well, until they do, no sense in wasting a hunting day. But we should probably eat as much as we can hold just in case we run into trouble."

I swallow my negativity. After all, maybe the Gamemakers aren't planning to interfere; maybe they're just waiting it out. Because Katniss is already making plates with most of the food we have left, I roll up the sleeping bag and put it in one of the packs, then put all of the gear together at the mouth of the cave. By the time I turn back to Katniss, the plates are made.

We eat in silence, and I think we both know this is it. The last meal in the cave, in the arena. Possibly my last meal alive. Not Katniss' though. Because Katniss will be going home, no matter what happens to me. She goes home. We leave to go hunting, and the feeling I had yesterday about never coming back to the cave intensifies. It's over. We either win or I lose, but no matter what, this cave is done. "You served us well," I whisper to it. I wonder if it's strange, this attachment I've come to have for something inanimate.

We head toward the stream, and I'm already looking forward to walking in it today; this heat sucks the life right out of you. But the stream has disappeared into thin air. My idea that this is the last day is confirmed. My thought that the Gamemakers actually wouldn't interfere with the Game is disproved.

Katniss says something about the stream being drained, but I'm not paying attention. Instead I'm just looking around at the woods. This can't be all they've done. There has to be something else out there, waiting for us. Why just drain the stream? What purpose does that… ah. "That lake," I say, "That's where they want us to go."

Katniss says hopefully, "Maybe the ponds will have some."

I don't want to make her upset, because she already looks like she's starting to panic with the idea of no water. There's no reason for me to upset her farther, so I tell her, "We can check." But somewhere inside me just knows, they want us at the lake. Wherever Cato is, whatever he is doing, he needs water too. And he's going to be drawn to the lake as well.

Katniss stands from where she was kneeling on the stream bank and agrees with my theory about the lake, then asks me, "Do you want to go straight away, or wait until the water's tapped out?"

"Let's go now, while we've had food and rest." I look grimly around, my hands tightening on the gear I'm carrying. This really is it. "Let's just go end this thing."

But we don't walk. We both stand there, looking out at the arena we can see from where we stand. I have a feeling these Games aren't going to end well for me. In the end, I think I'm going to be unhappy, whether it's because I'm dead, something happened to Katniss, or because I have to take another life, I just _feel_ that something bad is going to happen. The same way I have a feeling that the Gamemakers are gearing us toward the lake, the same way I have a feeling that the water sources drying up is not all they're going to do in this final round.

I look at Katniss. No matter what happens to me at the end of this, no matter what's happened in the past few weeks, it was all worth it. To have a few days of real, true togetherness with the person you love, that makes all the bad things worth it. I wrap my arms around her – I want one moment. One more moment of just us two together, being watched, yet separated from the rest of the world.

This time her arms wrap around me as well, and we just hold each other. I don't know if she has the same terrible feeling that I do, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that through everything that's going to come later, we have each other. I try to quell the bad feeling I have. We don't need bad feelings. We need good feelings. Hope. "Two against one. Should be a piece of cake." And for the first time, I think that while Cato does have sheer strength and brutality, Katniss and I have something more than blood thirst driving us to win. And that has to count for something.

Katniss has the same hope I do. I can tell from how she says, "Next time we eat, it will be in the Capitol."

We'll be in the Capitol. Haymitch will be drunk, Effie will cry her shallow yet strangely meaningful tears, Portia and Cinna will be there to celebrate with us. It'll be amazing. I whisper, "You bet it will."

I know we should draw back. We should start on our final journey in the arena. But neither of us wants to let go. Not yet, anyway. It seems like we're synced, for just a moment, as both of our arms tighten for just a few moments, and at the same time we draw back. Wordlessly, we start on the way to the lake.

The journey is silent, and I know I must be making a lot of noise as I walk, but Katniss doesn't mind today. We walk quickly, steadily, through the bushes, the trees, and the fallen leaves. Our pace is fast, and after a while, it becomes gruelingly clear that my leg, while hardly bothersome at all in days, can't take nonstop fast paced walking.

But the place where we stop isn't a good one. The moment we stop in the clearing, the memories I have from that place just make my leg throb even more. This is where Cato stuck me in the leg, where I thought I was dead. Not a very good place to keep spirits high for the impending danger.

I'm extremely relieved when Katniss says, "Let's move on."

So we do. I'm on the lookout for Cato and anything the Gamemakers might send at us, and I'm only growing more and more uneasy when we get to the Cornucopia and there's still no sign of anything. No Cato. No Gamemaker-designed difficulties. This nothingness is unnerving.

Even as we move to the lake to fill up our water bottles, I'm expecting something – anything – to jump out at us and give us a run for the Capitol's money. And still, nothing. I want to comfort myself and Katniss by reaching over and taking her hand, wrapping my arms around her, but maybe that's just the distraction the Gamemakers or Cato is waiting for before they spring on us.

The sun is going down, and still, nothing. Katniss looks at the rapidly fading sun, and says, "We don't want to fight him after dark. There's only one pair of glasses."

This thought hadn't occurred to me before. Cato loves hunting at night. Maybe he _wants_ to wait until the sun goes down before he springs himself on us. "Maybe that's what he's waiting for. What do you want to do? Go back to the cave?"

"Either that or find a tree. But let's give him another half an hour or so. Then we'll take cover." It's a sensible thing for her to say. Wait until it really is dark, then we'll see if Cato comes or not. But the longer we sit out here, the more I feel on edge. The only thing that makes me feel slightly better is when Katniss sings.

Because even the mockingjays stop to listen. They sing her melody back to us, and, as it always has, her voice floats in the air: magic. "Just like your father," I say.

She tells me that it's Rue's song, and then we just bask in the beauty of it. But then something is wrong. Katniss picks up on it before I do, but by the time the mockingjays have all started screeching, Katniss and I are both on our feet, guards up. She's armed in a second with her bow and arrows, and I have out my knife. Come on, Cato. We're ready.

But the second Cato appears in our line of vision, even before Katniss shoots at him and tells me he's got some sort of armor on, I know there's something strange happening. The look in Cato's eye isn't his blood thirsty look of killing. It's pure terror. And whatever had Cato terrified must be the most frightening thing in the world. He doesn't even try to attack us as he runs right by.

What the hell is going on? The Gamemakers must have something up their sleeves. I'm looking from where Cato just ran from, but I don't see anything out of the ordinary. And then I see it. My heart starts thumping, it's all I can hear, as this _thing_ hops up from where Cato just came from. I start to stumble backwards as more and more of the same creatures join in.

I have a slight feeling of relief when I turn around and start to run to see that Katniss is already yards ahead. I'm running behind Cato and Katniss, my only thought is to make sure these monsters don't get near her. Run.

* * *

**Yikes. When reading this part in the books, did anyone else have the urge to say "Run, Forrest, Run!" ? Maybe it's just me...**

**Anywho, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave me a review and tell my your thoughts!  
**


	22. Victory

Pain resonates up and down my leg and it's throbbing excruciatingly as I run. The more I run, the slower I am. Horror takes flight in my system when I realize, even without turning around, I can feel the mutts behind me. Hear their growls, the beat of their paws as they run. They must be so close. I can feel their hot break breathing down my neck. So this is it.

The only good thing about this situation is that Katniss is already at the Cornucopia, starting to climb up. It's not that far; maybe I can make it. But instead of climbing, she turns around. What is she doing? Don't stop, don't worry about me, at least until you're safe. I mean to yell the words out loud, but I can hardly breathe, let alone shout.

I'm done for. I know it because I can feel a mutt closing in on me. Until it doesn't. I look up and see Katniss standing with her bow and arrow. Thank you, but don't reload. Climb. Climb! All I can wheeze out is, "Go, Katniss! Go!"

I'm relieved when she scurries up the horn. Now I just have to focus on keeping myself alive against these mutts. By now I'm only like ten or so yards away. Maybe I can make it. I can, I just have to run _a little bit faster_. I put on a burst of speed that kills my leg even more, and I reach the Cornucopia. I made it.

The knife in my hand makes it difficult for me to get a good grip on the ridges on the Cornucopia, but I can't drop it. What if the mutts are able to pick it up? After all, they're strangely human. What if I have to help Katniss fight off Cato? And I can barely bend my leg and lift it enough to run properly, let alone climb. Damn it, _climb Peeta!_ Push through the pain.

I've just barely gotten up a few feet when the mutts are right behind me again. I don't know how far I – oh god. My breath whistles out and I can't stop the "Ah!" That comes out. I think one scratched the back of my leg. All I know is that it feels like a slice and there's a fresh agony tearing through me. Katniss whips around and sees me, and screams, "Climb!"

I'm trying to! Focusing on her face, I just manage to block out the pain. Get to Katniss. Hand, pull. Foot, step up. Katniss shoots at the mutts as I climb. I'm going to make it. Just as I reach her feet, she swoops down and pulls me up. We've both made it. I'm bleeding, in pain, but Katniss and I are safe. A fit of coughing from above reminds me that so is Cato. Between coughs, I hear him ask, "Can they climb it?"

My attention leaves him and goes back to the mutts. Somehow, with the creepy creatures joining together and standing up on their hind legs, teeth bared, Cato seems like the lesser of two evils in this situation. But there's something else about them, something besides their strange hair. I can't place what it is that makes them so creepy. They do seem to be a weird choice for a mutt. I've never seen the Gamemakers use mutts that are so different looking from one another.

Ah! Jeez! One of the things, one with light hair color, jumped and actually landed on the Cornucopia. I guess they can't climb it, but they can give it a run for our money. It's claws are holding on and I get a look at what I was scratched with. It seems I was on the lucky side, because these things are incredibly long and sharp, and my slice, while it does hurt, is minor. These things could clearly do major damage.

Katniss' scream draws my attention away from the mutt. I've never seen her be anything but competent and confident with her bow and arrow, but right now she fumbles. She hardly manages to lock her fingers in the correct position and fire. As the mutt falls to the ground, I reach over and take her arm in my hands. She looks like she's about ready to tumble right off the Cornucopia and into the pack of mutts. "Katniss?"

It looks like the words are stuck in her throat until she stammers out, "It's her!"

I look down at the mutts. How does she know their gender? What is she talking about? "Who?"

Katniss looks panicked as she looks rapidly back and forth at all of the mutts. I can feel her shaking underneath my hold on her arm. I scan the mutts below, but I don't see what she sees. The mutts look exactly the same as they did when they first appeared to us. What am I missing? I shake her shoulder gently to draw her attention away from the mutts. "What is it, Katniss?" I ask.

Her voice is strangled and I have to strain to listen as she says, "It's them. It's all of them. The others. Rue, and Foxface, and…"

She continues speaking, but I don't hear what she says as I peer down at the mutts. Oh my god. I gasp. These mutts, they are the other tributes. That's why the hair is all different colors, and there's just something that is so _real_ about them. Then it hits me. The eyes. Those eyes look like human eyes. "What did they do to them? You don't think… those could be their real eyes?" The thought is mortifying, and my hatred for the Capitol grows. Who mutilates dead people? People that are only dead _because_ of them in the first place?

The mutts are taking on a new strategy, breaking into different groups and attacking from different angles. I tighten my grip on Katniss' arm, about to pull her farther from the edge when I'm bit. All I'm aware of is the teeth burning into my leg. It burns, it burns, it burns. I can hear my screaming but I can't even manage to quiet it. My leg is being pulled off. The mutts' jaws have locked onto me, and I'm sliding off the Cornucopia.

I'm vaguely aware of Katniss pulling on my arm, but all of my attention is focused on my leg. She's shouting something to me, and it sounds muffled, like it's coming from underwater. What is she saying?

It's not until I realize she's saying "kill it" that I remember I have a knife in the hand that's not holding on to Katniss. Knife. I raise it weakly and jam it into the mutt's head, right between the eyes. It's still biting into my leg, but the pressure is lessening. I yank it from the mutts' head and into the side of its neck, and then it lets go of my leg.

Katniss is pulling on my arm and I try to block out the sensations in my leg. "We have to get to the top!" She yells at me, and even though I know it's going to be hell climbing up the rest of the Cornucopia with my leg, I know it'll be worse if we stay where we are.

It's difficult, but I push myself to stand and follow Katniss, climbing higher to where Cato is resting. The only relief I have is the fact that Katniss remained unharmed during the attack. She's arming her bow, sending an arrow into the throat of a mutt who managed to jump up to the top here, when I reach her, dragging myself into a sitting position. I've just managed to pull in two gulps of air when I can't breathe at all.

For a moment, I wonder what is this? How did a mutt manage this? Then, as the grip tightens and I'm forced farther back, I remember that Cato is up here. And he clearly isn't too weak to fight, even as we're all being attacked by mutts. He jerks my head back, and I'm certain he's going to snap it before I remember who I'm dealing with. This is Cato. He wants me to die slowly and painfully.

No. Air. I choke and raise my hands from where they were applying pressure to the mutt bite on my leg, and raise them to the arm cutting off my airflow. Need. To. Breathe. I try to dig in my fingers, but I doubt he's feeling any of it through his armor. When I feel Cato shake with laughter, I look up to see Katniss aiming an arrow at Cato's head. I gasp for more air in his iron grip and hear him say, "Shoot me and he goes down with me." It's good to know he's able to laugh in a bad situation.

As blood gushes from my leg, which I feel is adding onto the lightheaded feeling I'm getting from lack of oxygen, I move my hands to try and staunch blood flow. All of my movements are sluggish and a fine haze is starting to film over my mind. Gasping is giving me little to no air, and I need to think of a plan, and quick, before I lose power of mind. Katniss is looking unsure, nervous, and I think I've got it. Cato can't be shot anywhere except for his head, hands and feet. But the only place that will benefit me and, by extension, Katniss is his hand. If she shoots him there, he'll let go of me, and we'll send him over the edge.

Does this plan actually make sense or is it just because I have no oxygen that I think it does? I let go of my leg just as my world is starting to blur, and manage to make an X on Cato's hand. I hope to god Katniss understands what I'm getting at. She proves that she does, and right when I see her arrow release from the bow, I slam my back into Cato. He lets go of me, and goes over the edge. But so am I.

I can feel myself slipping, going over, even as I suck in the sweet, sweet air. It stings and burns going down my throat, but it's a pain. The plan wasn't for nothing. Cato will be dead, and even though I will be too, Katniss will live. And that's the point. Just as my butt is sliding off the edge, Katniss takes a hold of my arm, and pulls. I don't fall.

She caught me. She caught me, and I have her in my arms, and we're both okay. My heart pumps and for a moment I feel nothing except perfect happiness. When the mutts take care of Cato, we'll be able to go home. We both lived. Katniss is alive, and hardly hurt at all. No more pain while I breathe, my leg stops hurting, and for that moment, I know everything is going to be okay.

As we pull away from each other, the reality of my pain sets back in. Now my thigh seems like a paper cut, as I sit back and look at my calf. There's a hole, straight through it, blood is still gushing out. What am I supposed to do? The pain rips through me, making my breath come faster, which only burns my throat more.

I try to distract myself by looking up at Katniss. She's staring over the edge of the Cornucopia, her face set in stone. Whatever's happening out there must be bad. Cato still isn't dead, which means he's fighting off the mutts. I want to look, I want to ask Katniss what she is seeing, what is going on, but I'm having trouble focusing on anything that isn't my leg. Why isn't the blood stopping?

I remain frozen in my sitting position, and eventually I just take my hands off my calf. Slippery and covered in blood, weakly pressing against the hole probably isn't helping to much. Plus, my hands are starting to numb with cold. After the anthem plays, Cato is still alive, and Katniss urges me to lie down so she can look at my leg.

She doesn't like what she sees. That much is clear. She starts to take off her jacket, then her shirt, and I want to tell her she shouldn't, because it's going to get so cold out, but my tongue feels thick and heavy, and the words are stuck in my mouth.

I grit my teeth against the pain as she ties a tight knot just under my knee. Almost immediately, the bottom of my leg starts to go numb, which is actually a relief. I feel like I'm getting control of my mental and verbal faculties as she goes about bandaging the rest of the wound. I barely feel it, but it does make my world feel more intact.

Then her face is above mine, and she commands, "Don't go to sleep."

I won't. I'm not tired. But she is already shivering in the cold. Because she gave up some of her own warmth to help me. I unzip my jacket, and ask, "Are you cold?" Wordlessly, she lies on top of me, and we are zipped up inside. It's still cold, but this is a lot better. I recall a few days ago, when she hid from the world underneath the blanket, and I wanted to hide with her. Tonight, right now, we hide together.

Katniss is still shivering, her eyes large, as she looks up at me and says, "Cato may win this thing yet."

It sounds like a joke I would make to lessen the tension, but when Katniss says it, it's not a joke. I pull her hood around her head, trying to trap her warmth in around her head. When all we can do is wait, what else do we have but hope? I try to raise Katniss' by saying confidently, "Don't you believe it." Because after everything that's happened here, there is no way Cato is going to win. This isn't my pride speaking, this is the fact that while I'm not looking over the edge of the Cornucopia at him, I can hear what's happening.

Cato's pain is torturous. I try to tune it out, because this is terrible. No one, not even Cato for all of his preference for slow/torturous deaths, deserves to have be ripped apart like he is down there. He was just playing the Game. When all of his real sounds die off, all there is left of Cato is whimpers. I imagine what it must take to make someone as strong as Cato whimper, and I grimace.

Katniss is on the same wavelength that I am, and she asks, "Why don't they just kill him?"

I reply quietly, "You know why." But it's not fair. No one deserves this fate, and you'd think the Gamemakers would eventually give in and give him a swift death. After all, Cato was a perfect contender for the Gamemakers; they love his type of bloodthirstiness. But I suppose there's nothing they love more than a bloodthirsty death for a bloodthirsty tribute.

The longer we lie here, the more tired I am. Cato's whimpers fill my ears, the pain in my leg fills my mind, and I'd give anything to go to sleep to escape everything. But every time I close my eyes for longer than a few seconds, Katniss is shaking me awake. I fight to keep my eyes open now, and the only way I can is to keep myself busy.

I stroke a hand up and down Katniss' back, looking at the moon. After I've been staring at it for almost an hour, I realize something. I whisper it to Katniss, "Hey, the moon moved. It's shifting, ever so subtly." She doesn't move her head from where it's resting on my shoulder, only nods in response. Cato is making no noise now, but he's not dead. The only sounds made throughout the night are my talking every hour or so about the moon shifting.

As the sun comes up, I have a strange feeling in my leg. I hardly feel the pain, but every so often, I feel intermittent blood spurts. Luckily it's bandaged, otherwise I have a feeling I'd bleed out on the spot. But I don't want to worry Katniss, so all I say when I open my mouth is, "Look. The sun is coming up."

She lifts her head, and for the first time in hours, we hear Cato. He's speaking, but it's so low and broken, we can't make out the words. Poor Cato, and for the second time in hours, I think about how no one deserves what he got with those mutts. His muttering becomes louder and I say, "I think he's closer now. Katniss, can you shoot him?"

Without looking at me she says, "My last arrow's in your tourniquet."

That means the pain will come rushing back. But as I listen to Cato, I know my pain is nothing compared to his, and it will be worth it to put him out of his misery. One shot. I unzip Katniss so she can get the arrow, and say, "Make it count." Even though I already know she will.

My eyes follow her to the lip of the horn, and I see her lean out. My leg throbs and screams in protest as I push myself up and quickly crawl after her, grabbing her so that she doesn't fall down. Even though I can't see what's happening, I close my eyes, steeling myself against the sadness that I feel for Cato as he says something. I don't know what it is, but seconds later, I hear him fall to the ground. With a deep breath, I shift my hold on Katniss and pull her back to me. "Did you get him?" I ask.

She doesn't have time to answer as the cannon that signals his death goes off. The sound leaves me feeling empty. The goal I came here with is achieved: Katniss is alive. Then there's the added bonus, so am I. But at what cost? The faces of all those who had to die for us to stay alive race in my mind, ending with poor Cato, and my stomach clenches. I don't even know if we're really alive right now, or if we just survived. Right now I don't even know if there's a difference. "Then we won, Katniss."

When she responds with, "Hooray for us." Her voice is just as empty as mine.

I try to remind myself that these Games can tear people apart. When you leave the arena, are you ever really the same? I look at Katniss, and think that I want to leave this arena being better. Most of all, I just want to leave. But there's nothing. And the longer the nothingness drags on, the more suspicious I get. We should have definitely been taken away by now. _Something_ should have happened. I think back to the previous years and my thoughts are confirmed: the victor almost always gets immediately taken out after the last death.

And yet, there's nothing. I look doubtfully down at what's left of Cato. Maybe they want to take his body before ours. It's different from the past few years, but so is everything about these Games, right?

Katniss is growing agitated, and she looks up into the air, screaming, "Hey! What's going on?"

I voice my thoughts about how maybe they want to take away the body and suggest we move away from it. Since the mutts are gone, there's really no danger in going to the ground anymore.

She agrees, "Think you could make it to the lake?"

As the feeling of unease grows in my stomach, I know I have to do something. "Think I better try." Even as we slowly move to the tail of the Cornucopia, my entire body is in revolt. My leg is the worst, and the pain is so intense it makes me feel sick. But it's not concentrated to just there. My joints are stiff, and every muscle I move wants to resist.

And that's before we fall to the ground. As I land, I don't think I can get up from this. My leg doesn't even feel like it's part of my body anymore, and every other part of me has decided it's done trying to move. No matter how much I try, even after I see that Katniss has gotten up, I can't make myself move. When she comes to me, I help her as much as I can, and between the two of us, I'm standing again.

We walk slowly over to the lake, and I'm incredibly aware that no hovercraft has arrived for Cato, even though we're not next to him anymore. I'm also incredibly aware that with every step I take, blood gushes out of my leg. With each step, I grow more lightheaded. If that hovercraft doesn't appear soon, I'm not sure I can stay conscious to enjoy our win. By the time we're at the lake's edge, Katniss unwraps my arm from where it was around her neck, and I collapse to the ground. She brings me a sip of water, drinks one herself, and we wait. The longer we do, the more I feel myself fading away and I ask, "What are they waiting for?"

Katniss says, "I don't know." Before she stands and tries to find something. I'm not exactly sure what, but as soon as she sees something satisfactory, we hear Claudius Templesmith.

And my blood runs cold. Because he tells us that we can't both survive. Well, there's only one thing left to do, then. I force myself to my feet, ignoring the fact that my leg is about to give out completely. Of course. This was their plan all along. They gave the viewers what they wanted, Katniss and I together, and now they'll be even more riveted. Which lover will win and which will die? "If you think about it, it's not all that surprising," I say as I reach for my knife. I knew my end was coming even before we even came to the arena.

There is only one acceptable answer here. Only Katniss can come out as the winner here. My goal in the Game isn't yet accomplished. To make my intentions clear, I've already thrown my knife into the lake when I turn back to face Katniss. She has her bow loaded with an arrow already. It was quick, but I'm not questioning it – she's a survivor. Good. It'll make it easier then. At least I know Katniss will make it painless.

But then she lowers her bow. What is she doing? She has to do this, she has to do this go do home. "No. Do it." I walk toward her and secure the weapon in her hands. Come on Katniss, you need to go home. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.

She tells me, "I can't. I won't."

Desperation claws at me as I think about the Gamemakers getting sick of our drama and having them send the mutts back out. There's no way I'd let them get to Katniss, and I'd give myself to them. But I don't want to die like that. I _can't_ die like that, making those terrible sounds Cato made. I say this to her.

She shoves her weapons at me, "Then you shoot me! You shoot me and go home and live with it!"

Yeah, right. "You know I can't." I couldn't even live with it if she'd died without my influence. The thing is, I can't even imagine Katniss dead. It was difficult enough before we came into the arena, but now that we've been here, now that we've been together, the thought is unbearable. I'd kill myself before I kill her. Wait a second. My leg. I thought it before. Without this bandage I would bleed to death. "Fine, I'll do it myself," I tell her, kneeling down. With one hard rip, the bandage is off, and my blood is flowing thick and heavy. It can't be long now, and then Katniss will be home.

The next thing I know, Katniss is right in front of me, "No, you can't kill yourself." Her competent hands have the bandage tied on my leg again before I can stop her.

Doesn't she understand? There's no way this can happen if she dies. I wouldn't survive that. I take her hands in mine, gently rubbing. Tears form in my eyes and I just need her to _see_. "Katniss, it's what I want."

"You're not leaving me here alone." She says fiercely.

But she won't be alone. She'll have Gale, and Prim, and her mother. They need her, the way I need her. Katniss is vital. I'm expendable. I'm expendable, and without Katniss, I would be nothing. A shell of a man who was expendable. Her hands still in mine, I pull us both up so we're standing, and I can look into her big gray eyes for this one last time. "Listen, they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please take it. For me." I get choked up and have to clear my throat before I continue. "I love you, Katniss. I always have, I always will. These Games, they've been hell to go through. But it's been the best time of my life. Because for the first time ever, I've had you. A life without you in it is nothing to me. Even before the Games, before you knew me, you had me, hook, line and sinker. I can't go into a life where there is no Katniss Everdeen. Take the victory. For both of us."

I look into her eyes to see if she finally realizes how much she means to me when I see her going for the nightlock berries in the pouch around her waist. No! Before I can think, my hand has her wrist locked in it, "No, I won't let you."

She stares into my eyes, as if trying to tell me something, saying, "Trust me." I do, but I don't trust you to not sacrifice yourself, I think. Why would she tell me to trust her, when she knows I wouldn't let her do that? Foxface died right after she ate these berries, and so would we. When she gives us both berries in our hands, I realize something. As much as I can't bear to live without her, she can't bear to live with me. We'll both eat the berries, because either we both win or neither of us does. She gives me one of those long looks again before saying, "On the count of three?"

On the count of three, I eat the berries. We eat the berries. I wish there was something I could do to make Katniss reconsider, but if I mean as much to her as she does to me, I know I can't change her mind. I can't stop myself from leaning down and taking one more taste of her lips, just in case this is the last moment we have. Then I pull away and agree, "The count of three."

I want to show the Capitol that even they can't mess with love. Love conquers all, even them. I say to Katniss before she starts to count, "Hold them out. I want everyone to see."

The countdown goes by horrendously slow and yet too fast, and by the time we get to three, we tighten our empty hands around each other's, and I raise my hand to my mouth, several berries falling onto my tongue. Before I can bite into them, the trumpets sound.

I've never before in the history of watching the Hunger Games heard Claudius Templesmith sound anything but calm. But now he's rushing to announce, "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you – the tributes of District Twelve!"

Relief floods my system – we did it. We both won.

* * *

**Ah, sweet victory.**

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	23. Everything is All Right

I am so incredibly glad I didn't take a bite into those berries. I spit them onto the ground, and, just to be sure, lead Katniss to the lake so we can wash out whatever residue may remain. Katniss really did save us. My girl, the brilliant, brave person she is, saved both of our lives. Neither of us could live without the other, and the Capitol must have recognized that, but the audience was probably the driving point. The audience is the reason the Gamemakers even exist. We're both definitely going home.

My heart thunders in my ears and I pull Katniss into my arms when I can no longer remain up right and flushing out my mouth with water. We survived. We have each other, we're in love, and we're fully alive.

Katniss catches her breath and asks, "You didn't swallow any?"

I shake my head, "You?" It's a stupid question for me to ask: of course she didn't. She, somehow, knew this plan would work. I'm not going to question it.

She answers me, "Guess I'd be dead by now if I did." That's true.

"You're so amazing, Katniss. I'd be nothing without you." She doesn't answer, but it doesn't matter. It's okay. Everything is okay.

The only thing that's not feeling okay is the fact that my stunt with pulling off the bandage seems to have made my bleeding worse. As the hovercraft appears above us all I think is thank god. I lean heavily on Katniss and she has to help me over to the ladder, too. I haven't been this weak since she first led me into our cave.

I can barely make a fist to hold onto the rungs of the ladder, and I sigh in relief when I remember that that lock us into place. I can barely even keep my head up; it's just too much work. I can feel myself fading, the same vision blurring happening as when Cato cut my thigh. I force my eyes open and look at Katniss one more time. This time, as my vision blacks out, I think: we did it.

And then there's nothing.

When I come to, I expect to see Katniss above me, and I expect to be in the hovercraft. In the same place I was when I blacked out. But I'm not. My eyes fight to open, and when they do, I'm staring at fluorescent yellow ceiling. But where am I? My head is foggy and I shake it, trying to see if there are any memories in there about what happened to me since the Hovercraft, but there's nothing.

Suddenly there's the face of a man – a doctor – above me, "Well, young man, you've had quite some journey since the arena."

I struggle to move, but I'm restrained everywhere. My voice is hoarse as I ask, "How long have I been here? What happened to me? Where's Katniss?" There are beeps and I try even harder to pull my hands free.

The doctor puts his hand on my arm, checking something, as he says, "Calm down. You've been here for two days. That young lady is fine, she's perfectly fine. You need to worry about yourself."

Myself? I feel fine. Even my leg… my leg feels like nothing. This only makes me panic more, "My leg. I can't feel my leg!"

The doctor sighs down at me before saying, "I'll undo your restraints, if you promise to calm down."

I don't calm down. I can't. "Tell me what happened to my leg." I try once more to free myself from the restraints, and after I pull with all my might, I settle down. With a deep breath I say, "Please. Tell me what happened to my leg."

He looks at me once with a measuring look before slowly undoing my wrist restraints. He helps me sit up, and as soon as I can I whip off my blanket. He didn't tell me what happened to my leg because there is nothing to tell. There is nothing. I can actually feel the color drain from my face.

Metal and plastic are in the place of flesh and bone. My hand is shaking as I reach down to touch it. I whisper, "My leg."

The doctor's hand is on my shoulder, "We couldn't save it. Your heart stopped, twice, on the operating table, and if we'd devoted more time to saving your leg, we wouldn't have been able to be as vigilant on the rest of you."

He keeps talking, but I don't hear the words. My leg is gone. I have no leg. This is wrong. My heart stopped, twice. I don't even… I can't… my _leg_. I look up again at the doctor after he's stopped talking, intending to ask him… something. Anything. But no words come out. He smiles at me, "You seem to be taking this news well. So well, that I'm going to trust you to keep your hands out of the restraints. But I wouldn't advise trying to walk, not yet." Something on him starts to beep and he looks down and says, "I have to go, but I'll be back in later to check on you."

I nod as he leaves and then just look at my leg. I just can't believe it's gone. I sit in my bed, and after two hours and a small meal that I can only eat a few bites of, I come to the conclusion that it was just a leg. The bottom of a leg, at that. Worse things could have happened, and almost did happen. Katniss could have died or been injured, and she's okay. Plus, there's no more pain to deal with. In fact, I don't hurt anywhere anymore.

I just wish they'd let me go see Katniss. Maybe, since I can't walk yet, they'll send her in to see me. I wait, but nothing happens. As night falls, the only person who's come into my room is that same doctor. He walks over to me, checking the monitors next to me. I sit up, "When do you think I'll be able to get out of this bed?"

He's still looking at the machines as he says, "Well, I'd say, based on your vitals, you'll be able to try walking on it tomorrow. I'll oversee your progress. For now you should try to get some sleep."

Before he can turn and walk away, I catch his arm, "When can I see Katniss?"

He reaches over and takes my hand off of his arm, "It is my impression that you'll not be able to see her for a few days." After that, he turns and leaves.

Days? I can't wait days; I need to see her with my own eyes. Make sure she really is okay. I want to talk to her, tell her about my leg, I want to hear her laugh, I want to hold her in my arms. I lie back in bed and concentrate on the fact that when we're done here we can go back to District Twelve. We'll be neighbors in Victor's Village. With Haymitch.

Haymitch. When can I see him? What about Portia? Cinna, Effie? I sigh, and one of the machines next to my bed gives a long beep, and then one of the tubes connected to my arm fills with a liquid. The next thing I know, it's tomorrow.

I reach up and rub the sleep out of my eyes, and something feels different. I wiggle around a bit and I realize that my waist isn't bound down anymore. I sit up immediately, and look under my blanket. Neither are my feet!

Before I can swing my legs over the side, the doctor, I read the name sewn onto his lab coat now – Dr. Cavanaugh – comes into the room. "Ah, Peeta, you're awake."

I reach up and scratch the back of my head, "Yeah… listen, last night when I went to sleep, it wasn't really me _going to sleep_; one of these machines just went off and put me to sleep."

Dr. Cavanaugh locates the specific tube and says, "Yes, this monitors your heart rate. When I was in here last night, I programmed it to put you to sleep if your heart rate got above a certain point." Before I can respond, he orders me to sit still. I do, and he unhooks all of the tubes from my arm, then looks back at all of those machines. I wonder what they tell him about me. He turns back to me with a grin on his face, "It seems you're exactly on schedule. Are you ready to try out your leg?"

Immediately I say, "Yes." Because I am. I want to know how it works. Is it going to feel differently walking on it than on my regular leg? Will I be off balance? There's only one way to know.

He nods, "Good. We'll give it a try this afternoon. Your lunch will be brought in shortly. Try to finish it; it'll be good for you." And he leaves.

Hours later, he's back, standing with his arms crossed, staring at me scrupulously. He'd handed me a slim, metal cane a minute ago, and said, "You'll need this. Hold it in your right hand and put as much weight as you feel comfortable with on it every time you take a step with your left leg." A cane. I guess I can get used to that, I think, as I slide my legs off the bed. "You should be fine." He tell me, "After a month or so, you won't even have to use the cane."

Carefully, I place my feet on the floor. But it doesn't even feel close to normal. Because one of my feet is on the cool tiles of the floor, and the other… is nothing. A slight pressure on the place where my fake leg meets the real one. But it doesn't feel _bad_. Just different. Bit by bit, I put more of my weight off the bed, until I'm fully standing. It's strange.

I'm the same height. I'm not crooked. I'm fully fine. But it's weird, standing and not feeling it in my leg. The only way I can tell is by the slight pressure. If the foot is off the ground, there's no pressure. When it's on, there it is again. I take a step forward with my regular foot. Same as always. Slowly, I take a step with my new foot, following the instructions with the cane. Strangely, same as usual. Just without that sensation. And the cane really isn't that hard to work with.

I walk around the room a bit, getting a feel for the leg. A feel for the cane. After about a half hour, I'm walking practically normally, and I grin, "It's great!" And it is. I feel like all of my memories are full of blood gushing and pain coming from this leg. Limping whenever I was actually able to stand on it at all. And now it's better than new. I some to a stop in front of the doctor, and hold out my hand, "Thank you."

He takes it, shakes it briefly, and tells me I'm welcome. Then he clears his throat and says, "Hold on. You have a visitor."

He walks to the door, and I think Katniss. How is she going to react to my leg? She won't care, surely. When you love someone, you love them regardless of their imperfections. I'd love her no matter what happened, and after everything that happened in the arena, especially with those berries, I know she loves me the same way. My face is flushing with anticipation as the door opens wider and then I see – Haymitch.

My face still breaks out in a smile, and I awkwardly lift my leg in the air, "Check out the new equipment," I joke.

Haymitch cracks a smile and walks over to me, "Yeah, I heard. How's it working out for you?"

I move my foot in a little dance in front of him, and the grin stays on my face because I'm just happy to see him. "Works great." We stand in front of each other for a moment, until he reaches out a hand. I take it, then pull him in to give him a hug. It's strange for him, I can tell, but I missed him. He even reaches a hand up and pats me awkwardly on the back.

A moment later he pulls back, and I think I detect a hint of a smile as he says, "You did great in there, kid."

"Thanks. I really convinced her, you know. She loves me back." I give him the same slap on the shoulder that my brother always gives me, joking, "And you called me a fool."

The hint of his smile is gone, and I wonder what I did. It can't be because I teased him… Haymitch is used to being teased. But what other reason could it be? He clears his throat after a moment and just says, "Yeah. Well… you hold onto that feeling."

Before I can ask what that means, there's another knock on the door. This time it's Effie pushing the door open. I can tell by the hand curled around the door. With those fingernails, and the sleeve to a neon colored suit, who else would it be? I'm proven correct when she appears.

I smile and jog, well, as close to jogging as I can with the cane, over to her, "Effie! How are you?" I bend to give her a hug, which she reciprocates.

"I'm so glad to see you up, and using your… your leg so soon." She gives me a smile and pushes at her wig.

I can tell by her tone that my new leg grosses her out. I say, "Yeah, I'm up and walking on it. Dr. Cavanaugh says I'm right on schedule."

This makes her genuinely smile, "Well, that's something I love about you, Peeta. On schedule. That's just excellent."

Haymitch rolls his eyes, "Boy gets a new leg, and it's walking on schedule that's important." Then he raises his voice and mimics, "_That's just excellent_."

As Effie snaps back at him, I just smile. I guess some things, regardless of whether or not it's before or after the arena, never change. It's comforting. Like coming home. Home. I can't believe it didn't occur to me before. I am going home. To my family, to the bakery, to District 12.

Haymitch and Effie say that they have to leave to plan the dinner for the sponsors, telling me they'll see me tomorrow sometime. Before Haymitch can go, I grab his wrist, "When can I see Katniss?"

He takes my hand away, dropping it before he says, "Tomorrow. You're going to be onscreen, and then you'll have your little reunion."

Then we say goodbye, and my mind goes back to going home. I'm going to put on a big party, at my new house. Haymitch, Katniss, all my old friends, my family, even Madge and Delly Cartwright – everyone's going to be invited. I just want to see everyone's faces again.

I wish I was allowed to phone my family from here, just to hear their voices. We don't have a phone upstairs, but the bakery has one that we can use whenever we need to for personal calls. But the victor, or victors as the case may be, aren't supposed to speak to their families until they go home.

I pace back and forth in my room for a while, getting used to the cane, before I go into the bathroom. When I see myself in the mirror, it's startling. My face is thin – almost _too_ thin now, but it's clean. I hardly recognize myself without that layer of grime that I grew accustomed to feeling on my skin. I pull up my shirt and am shocked to see myself. I've never been a particularly skinny boy – I've always had muscle tone at a healthy weight. But right now I can see the outline of my ribs.

I don't want to have to look at it any longer, so I pull my shirt back down. Looking at myself in the mirror with clothes on, and ignoring the thinned out face look, I still seem like myself. My shoulders are still broad, the blond hair still just nearly falls into my eyes. But it looks like there's something different. Something I just can't put my finger on.

I go back out into the room and lay down. I wonder what Katniss is doing right now. Where she is. Who's gone in to see her. If she knows where I am or what happened to my leg. Right before I drift off to sleep, I remember that I'm going to be able to see her tomorrow. Finally. It's only been two days, but it feels like forever.

As I wake, I know I'm not alone in the room. There are familiar whispers that stop as my eyes open. Immediately, I'm swooped upon by Leontius and Ravilla. They're both leaning over me before I can sit up. Ravilla's arms are around me, and Leontius puts a hand on my shoulder before I can greet them. I smile, "It's good to see you, too."

They both step back, and Ravilla says, "Oh, we were so worried about you. Leontius and I could barely keep our eyes on the screen for half the time. I'm so glad you're all right!"

Leontius nods, "I thought for sure… well, you know. And with your leg! But your face looks good as new, so surely your leg does, too. Right?"

With a deep breath, I try to break the news gently to them. "Well, my leg took quite a beating. The doctors did all they could to save it, but it just couldn't be done." They both gasp, and I say, "Don't worry, though, I can still walk and run, as good as ever." Then I draw back the blanket.

Ravilla is instantly in tears, "I'm so sorry! That's terrible!"

Leontius' pale blue skin seems to be getting paler by the minute the longer he looks at my leg. He looks at me, his gaze dire, as he says, "How in the world can you ever be in a unitard again?"

Huh. That's certainly not a something I've thought of before, and I know it'll never concern me, but I just pat Leontius' shoulder and say, "I guess we'll have to leave that to Portia. She can handle it."

They both nod, and take a moment to regain their composure and grab my cane, before they lead me out of my hospital room. We take an elevator upstairs and they take me directly into the shower. When I'm out, they settle me onto a stool and do their work. Leontius is doing my nails, and Ravilla is doing my hair.

The scene is so familiar I just have to grin. Ravilla makes a 'tsk' sound as she works. "You've lost so much weight. Some of your muscle tone is still here, but it's such a shame."

Leontius says, "Psh. If you didn't have to go through everything you went through to lose the weight, I'd follow your diet!"

Ravilla sighs, "Oh, yes, everything you went through. You and Katniss were just adorable."

Remembering a time, just a few weeks ago, where I would blush at this, I just smile. "Thanks."

They continue talking, commenting on everything from the state of my nails and hair, to asking about Katniss, talking about the outfit Portia has planned for me. I can barely get a word in edge wise. When they get to the final stage – makeup – I can feel without looking at what they're applying that it's more than before. They're trying to subdue the angles my face has accumulated from thinning. In the end, they succeed, and I look a lot more like my old self. "You two are brilliant." I mean it, they are excellent at their jobs, even though I still hate having this stuff on my skin.

They both flush, and give me pats on the shoulder and my back, gushing about how wonderful I am to work with before they let themselves out. Sometime while I was getting prepped, there was food delivered for lunch. I'm still pretty hungry, though, and I make my way over to the tray where there is still food. I'm just picking up a roll when I hear the door behind me open.

As soon as I turn around, Portia is running toward me. I just open my arms in time for her to throw hers around me. I hold on, grinning. Her personality, as always, is bubbly. She draws back from me and is practically vibrating with energy, "Oh, Peeta, I missed you! Are you okay? You look okay."

I smile at her, "I'm great. And how are you?" It's nice to be with Portia again, someone where I can just _be_ here with.

She claps her hands, "Busy as a bee! Don't tell anyone, because as a paid official, I'm not supposed to make any bets or assumptions on the tributes. But the second they announced they would allow a pair of you to win, I got together with Cinna as we planned your outfits."

Her genuine happiness makes me think, if I had a sister, I would hope she'd be exactly like Portia. "I appreciate your confidence in me."

She smooths her hands over my hair, "And with you and Katniss together… I can't believe what I thought about her before you left. She took such good care of you when you weren't well. And you did the same for her. You two are simply beautiful together." I smile and before I can say anything, she practically jumps back, "Oh, I knew I was forgetting something. Your leg, Peeta, how is your leg?"

I bite my lip. Of course she has to know about the new one by now, but what if she reacts the same way Ravilla and Leontius did when they saw it? "You know about how I had to get it removed, right?"

She nods, "I heard." In response, I just lift up my pant leg. She gasps and drops to her knees to look. Way different reaction than my prep team, I think as I sit on the stool. We prop up my leg and she remains sitting on the floor to look at it. "Wow," she whispers, then raises her hand to it, "It's smooth. That's good; you wouldn't want a jagged leg rubbing against your other one. Does it hurt?"

I shake my head, and stare at the leg. I hadn't thought about the fact that it was smooth before. "No, it doesn't hurt." I'm glad Portia isn't repelled by my leg; it gives me hope that it really isn't as weird as I thought it was. Maybe everyone back home won't have a tough time getting used to it.

"Well, I'm glad I didn't plan on putting you in shorts for your first interview," she jokes.

I laugh and say, "I'm going to have trouble rocking the sandal look now."

We both chuckle for a minute before she stands and puts her hands on her hips, "You know, I actually had planned for you to wear sandals. And a lovely pair of shorts. But, not to worry, it's all been altered nicely. You'll still look fabulous."

"Of course I will." I say confidently. And I believe I will, because I have Portia for a stylist, and Portia knows what she's doing.

It's not long before she has me dressed in long black pants, and a soft, almost glowing, yellow shirt. It's a soft, coal burning fire yellow. She buttons the shirt up for me and says, "We chose this color with you in mind, actually. Your hair is exactly this shade, this beautiful golden yellow. Like candlelight."

Now my face does flush, "Thank you."

She waves it off, and takes a deep breath before saying, "Now… for the final touch." She turns around and picks something up, then turns back to face me, setting the boots down on the table next to us.

They're large and black, almost like combat boots. Nothing like Portia would normally pick out, that's for sure. A laugh bubbles up in my throat and comes out before I can stop it. Portia looks at me in mock disapproval for a moment before she gives in and laughs, too. "I know, they're terrible! But they were really the only option I had with so little time. Oh… god, they really are horrid, aren't they?"

I can't stop laughing, but I take her hand in mine, "No, no, they're fine. Sturdy. I need a little more sturdy with this thing here." I hold up my cane.

Portia giggles for a moment, then her features turn serious as she looks me over. "You're ready." She tells me, and then takes me to the elevator. We stand on it until it brings us to the training level. When we arrive, she leaves, preparing to make her stage debut, and I'm left alone, separated from whatever else is in this room by a wall.

I wait in anticipatory silence for the anthem to play. The anthem will play and I'll get to see Katniss. My hand tightens on my cane and I just look above me at the ceiling. And wait.

* * *

**Please Review!**

**I've been getting some people in reviews asking if I'm going to write Catching Fire and Mockingjay in Peeta's point of view. The answer is that I don't know. This fanfic was pretty experimental, because I've never written an entire book in a different character's POV before. So maybe, if enough people want me to write the sequels in his point of view, I will.**

**Tune in on Monday for the final chapter!  
**


	24. Empty

My hand on the cane is so tight I feel like I'm just going to break it in half. The anthem is playing and all of the cheering the crowd is doing for our prep teams, Cinna, Portia, Effie, and Haymitch all blur together for me. I'll be seeing Katniss so soon. I'm already grinning as I feel myself being lifted onto the stage.

The crowd is already going crazy for us. I hear nothing they say, though, and my breath catches when I see Katniss for the first time since the arena. She's so beautiful, innocent and radiant. She runs toward me, her dress flickering exactly like a candle as she launches herself into my arms.

I start to stumble back, not used to catching my balance with the cane yet. With her in my arms, everything is just _right_ again. I need to taste her again, need to have her lips on mine. These people in the audience don't matter, the cameras don't matter. Right now, for this moment, it's Katniss and me, and that's it.

I put my finger underneath her chin and tap her chin so she looks up at me. As soon as she does, as soon as I can see her smokey eyes, I lower my lips to hers. The kiss is much like many of our others, soft and chaste, but it's still so _good_. I draw back, and see that her eyes are still closed. I move my lips all over her face, planting kisses on her chin, her cheek, her eyelids, before just pulling her back into my arms.

Caesar walks up to us, and even though we're on his show right now, even though we got along excellently during our previous interview, I shake my head at him, and gently push him away from us. This Katniss and Peeta world isn't done yet. We hold on tight again, and my eyes close briefly. My chest feels lighter than it has in days, and that has to be because now I know for sure Katniss is alive and well and happy.

We only draw apart when Haymitch walks to stand right next to us, "Come on love birds, we've got a show here!" He shoos us along, over to the love seat they have set up for us.

I don't think Katniss ever really got the hang of being in front of the cameras, and she sits close to me. But I like it, because I'm still not ready to be disconnected from her. Apparently she's even more uncomfortable than I thought, because she repositions herself within a minute, so that she's leaning her head against my shoulder. My arm moves of it's own accord to loop around her shoulder. If she's looking for protection, this is someplace I can give it.

We sit and Caesar looks at us with his typical smile, "Aw, aren't you two adorable?"

I smile back, tightening my arm around Katniss, as if to say, _don't worry, I'll do the talking if you don't want to_. "We really are."

"Adorable enough to steal my show. There's no doubt that's what the audience would go for right now." He says, and we both laugh as the crowd screams back to him, laughing and agreeing. Caesar settles back in his own chair, "Now, let's begin."

But I can't watch. I don't want to see anyone die. For most of the three hours, I focus on the way the dimmed lighting makes Katniss' hair shine, the way her hands tighten occasionally on mine, and her slow, relaxed breathing. We've never gotten to be together in a setting that isn't the arena, but, really, sitting together like this isn't as different as it was in our cave.

I only look away from Katniss when the anthem plays and President Snow comes out with the little girl to present us with the crown. I want to tell him that he can just give the whole crown to Katniss, that I don't need it. Then he breaks it in half, and walks to me. He looks down at me and smiles, "Good job."

I nod and accept the crown, and wait for Katniss to be crowned as well. As the audience goes wild, I wonder when I'm going to be alone with Katniss for long enough to show her my leg, to ask her about what's happened to her in the past few days, and to just hold her, without the country watching.

But it's clear that time won't be any time soon. We go to the President's mansion with dinner, which isn't so much a dinner so much as a meet and greet with your sponsors. I'm shocked by the number of people there who want their pictures with us, and I haven't even been there for ten minutes before all I see when I close my eyes are dizzying flashes. Every moment one sponsor leaves, I think I'll have a moment alone with Katniss, but someone else swoops in to talk to us.

We're not even alone when we're brought back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center. Before I can even tell Katniss to have a good night, and that I love her, Haymitch puts a hand on my shoulder, pushing me away from Katniss and toward Portia. "Go on, kid. She has something she needs to size you for or something."

Portia shakes her head, "Oh, well, it can wait if they want to have a moment –"

Haymitch doesn't let her finish, and says, "No, they're fine. Take him, do what you have to. We'll see you in the morning."

As Portia loops her arm through mine and starts leading me down one hallway, I look over my shoulder and see Haymitch leading Katniss in a different direction. Portia opens the door to her room and leads me in as I ask, "Why is Haymitch acting so strange? It's almost like he doesn't want Katniss and me to see each other at all privately."

Portia just waves it off and finds her measuring tape somewhere in her desk before walking back over to me, "Who knows? It's Haymitch. He's a strange guy."

She takes a measurement of my new foot, "Aha! I knew it by the way you were walking."

Distracted, I look down at her, "Knew what?"

She stands, "The personnel at the hospital told me that your foot was the same size as it was before. But it's not; it's a whole centimeter shorter!"

I don't mean to insult her, but I ask, "Does a centimeter really change things, foot-wise?"

She rolls her eyes at me like I've just asked her something preposterous. But I suppose it's the same look I'd give to someone who didn't know they had to knead bread dough in flour before baking. "It throws off everything, Peeta. I could tell it wasn't right simply by the way you were walking tonight."

My brows raise, "That's impressive. I didn't even notice I was walking differently."

She reaches up and pats my cheek, "That's why you're not the stylist here, honey."

I roll my eyes at her, "I guess so."

We laugh for a while before she draws me down for a quick hug, "I have to get to work on your footwear for tomorrow. Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

I slowly make my way back, wondering if I should knock on Katniss' door so we can have at least a minute together, but even as I pause outside of her room, I stop myself. We just had a long and busy night, and she could already be sleeping. I don't want to make her get out of bed just so I can shock her with my leg. I'm sure we'll have a moment alone tomorrow.

But I'm wrong, I quickly come to realize after I wake up the next morning. Haymitch and I quickly eat breakfast together. He brings a bowl of oatmeal in to me and I ask, "Why aren't we having breakfast in the dining room? With Katniss?"

He stands in front of my door, arms crossed as he says, "She's busy. Getting prepped for her interview, like you will be in a minute."

He's not eating with me, but he stands in the room, guarding the door like a watchdog. "Haymitch, I don't get it. Why all of the sudden can't I see Katniss unless we're in front of an audience?"

He sighs, opens his mouth, and then there's a knock on my door. This is the only time I've ever seen Haymitch hesitate before speaking, and now that he reveals my prep team is behind the door, he evades answering completely, and doesn't even say goodbye before he makes his hasty exit.

Ravilla and Leontius try to make conversation with me, but I only give them short answers. I'm too focused on what is going on with Haymitch to give them very much attention. It doesn't take me as long as it normally does to be prepped, I think because I still have my hair and nails styled from last night. But they're gone and replaced by Portia in only an hour and a half.

She walks in, her arms full of my outfit. She yawns, "I had to work on your new shoes almost all night. I'm sorry if they don't fit exactly right."

Her eyes are half closed still when she looks at me, so I guide her to sit on the bed, "It's okay. You shouldn't have gone to all that trouble for my foot. But thank you."

She nods, and this is the first time I haven't seen her be anything but full of life. But I'll let her have her morning of quiet, because I'm also not really up for conversation. I dress myself, in the loose, soft white pants, and gauzy red shirt. The shoes, the ones she spent all night altering, look the same to me, but I know that's because I just don't have an eye for fashion the way she does.

I present myself in front of her, "How do I look?"

She gives me a sleepy smile and stands up, pressing her lips to my cheek, "Great. As always."

Then she leads me to the sitting room, "The interviews are going to be done in there today."

That's strange. But all right. As soon as I open the door, I see Caesar and Katniss are already here. The whole room is already decorated to go along with this romance color theme. She looks gorgeous, dressed in one of Cinna's creations. The red dress just reminds me of all those years ago, when we were five. The first time I saw her in a red dress. The memory makes me smile as I cross to her, and draw her aside, "I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart."

I expected Katniss was as confused about this as I am, but a shadow passes over her expression – her classic lying tell – before she says, "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately."

Well, I don't need to know everything. I shrug it off, then tell her the words that have been brightening me ever since I thought about going home in the hospital, "Well, there's just this and we go home. Then he can't watch us all the time."

She gets that strange look on her face again, but before I can question it, Caesar is leading us to the couch. Oddly enough, it feels stranger being in this small room for interviewing than it does in front of thousands of people. Either way, I sit the same way I did last night, leaning back onto the couch. I'm disappointed when Katniss doesn't cuddle into me; but I suppose maybe she's not camera shy so much as audience-shy. But that theory is disproven as Caesar Flickerman tells her it's okay to cuddle up to me, and she does immediately. It brings back the protective feeling I had last night.

Before I even know it, the cameras are rolling and Caesar sits forward in his chair, "Hello, Panem! I'm sitting here with our favorite young couple, Peeta and Katniss, in their very own sitting room. Let me tell you, this place is so nice, I might just camp out so I can live half as nicely as these two. But enough about me, let's get down to what everyone really wants to see: our young loves." He turns and looks at us. "So, you two, how does it feel, the star-crossed lovers being able to be together?"

I can feel Katniss burrow even tighter to my side, so I clear my throat, and grin. "It feels amazing. Better than anything I've ever imagined." Which is extremely true.

Caesar shakes his head at us, "You two are almost _too_ great. You're just delightful! Do you have any plans for when you go home?"

I can tell that Katniss doesn't want to answer any more right now, so I take this one, too. With a chuckle I say, "Well, first things first, I'm going to pull a shift at the bakery. I've lost out on a lot of bread time."

He laughs again and slaps his knee, "But you don't need to work at the bakery now; you don't need to work at all."

I shake my head, still smiling, but serious as I say, "I'll always need the bakery, though. My mother has no doubt been penciling in my shifts since she knew I was coming home."

"Well, it's good to know you'll always have the family business, eh? But what I really meant was, what plans do you two have for when you go back home?" He leans forward in his chair, looking at us expectantly.

I look down at Katniss, who's not looking at me or Caesar or the camera, but down at her hands. This is probably the one question I don't want to answer right now, especially on national television. After all, Katniss and I haven't even discussed this ourselves. But I can't falter now, which would just put even more pressure on Katniss herself, and us as a couple. I relax my shoulders into the couch and grin at Caesar, "We'll be together of course, but our relationship wasn't built in a day, and we can't predict what's going to happen in the coming times. We'll take it slow, and just enjoy each other and being in love." That much, I can say, is true.

"Aw, you kids." He clears his throat, his host-smile still intact as he says, "Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?"

This question is a lot easier, because I know the answer without even a shadow of a doubt. I nod, "From the moment I laid eyes on her."

I can tell before Caesar even speaks again that he's going to direct conversation, once more, toward Katniss. He talks to her about me, ending with, "When did you realize you were in love with him?"

And I'm sitting on the edge of my seat along with the rest of Panem, because I'm dying to know this as well. When did things change for her? She bites her lip and looks down, looking deep in thought. After she's silent for a while, Caesar talks about a moment that was played on the recap last night, "The night when you shouted out his name from that tree."

I wasn't particularly paying attention to any of those parts, but I can tell it must have stuck out to several people. It seems to strike a chord in Katniss, as she sits up straighter and says, "Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I tried not to think what my feelings might be…" she speaks more, and the more I listen, the warmer my heart feels. This is just all so _right_. She really does love me back, because this isn't her lie face, and she has no reason to lie about this anyway.

I tune back into the conversation when Katniss says, "Maybe… because for the first time… there was a chance I could keep him."

Keep him! Keep me! She wants to keep me. Even though we haven't gotten around to talking about our future, with that statement I know she wants the same things I do. Being together. I lean down, pressing my forehead to her temple so my mouth is level with her ear, whispering, "So, now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

She turns into me, so our faces are only an inch, maybe two, apart. This closeness… I've longed for it every day of my life. She answers, "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt."

I love this woman so incredibly much. Her words, even though she's uncomfortable using them, evoke more emotion in me than I thought possible. I duck my head and press my lips to hers. _I love you so much_, I think, and I just know she has to feel it. As we draw apart I sigh and Katniss settles back down into me, going back into her on-camera shell.

Caesar asks, "What about those injuries, huh? I think, as a part of the audience, I was most concerned with the tracker jackers. What were they like?"

I make myself give an over dramatic shudder, "Terrible. I can't even describe the pain, really. It was just… terrible. They make you think things that just aren't true. I mean, they could probably make you crazy." I don't know much about tracker jacker venom but based on what I briefly saw of it in the Games, I'm sure this assumption can't be that far off.

He nods, "So were they worse than Cato's wound with the sword?"

The answer comes to me immediately, "No way. After I was stung… it was bad, but I knew I'd live. The first time I woke up after being cut I was convinced I was dead. And when I found out I wasn't, well, you watched… I thought I was a goner for sure."

He turns his head toward Katniss, "So, what about for you? Was the tracker venom worse than the burns?"

Her response is short, "Well, for the burns Haymitch sent me some salve to put on them. For the venom, I just had to fight it out of my system myself."

Caesar doesn't push for her to say more, and then makes himself jump in fear, "Those muttations! They were terrifying."

I nod, "Could you do that jump again?" I mimic it, he does it again, and I mimic him again. When we're both laughing, I clear my throat, "But yeah, those mutts were horrific. After everything, I was convinced I was done. Again. I guess I was convinced of that a lot."

He does the same fake shudder I did minutes ago, "You had me convinced when one bit you. When I saw, I think when Panem saw, your leg, we all were certain you were gone. Speaking of your leg, how's your new one working out?"

Oh no. Katniss. I feel her tense up in my arms before she draws away, giving me a concerned look, "New leg?" Before I can stop her, explain to her in detail about my leg, she pulls up my pant leg. All of the blood drains from her face and she whispers, "Oh, no."

I'm trying to think of something to say, when Caesar asks, "No one told you?"

And now I wonder why no one told her, when everyone else knew. Why keep Katniss in the dark? Caesar looks at me questioningly, and I shrug, "I haven't had the chance." And why is that? I want to know now more than before why Haymitch has been so bent on Katniss and myself remaining separated.

My attention is drawn back to Katniss when she looks at me, guilt written all over her face as she says, "It's my fault. Because I used that tourniquet."

"Yes," I joke, trying to make her feel better, "It's your fault I'm alive." I owe my life to her and that tourniquet; she has to see that.

Caesar affirms what I'm thinking, but it does the opposite of make her feel better. She turns back to me, hiding her face in my shirt. I stroke my hand up and down her back, whispering, "Katniss, it's okay. You saved me, and this leg… it works perfectly. Come on out." I repeat this same thing for another minute before I can feel her sigh and she comes back out.

I send Caesar a look, telling him to stop talking to her, and making her feel terrible like this. He listens, and looks at me, gesturing to my leg, "So everything you went through, with all of the wounds and emotional exhaustion, was it worth the leg?"

I wave it off, "Worth an arm and a leg, really, so I consider myself lucky. Plus, you know, I had to get the latest model."

We laugh, and Caesar clears his throat, "Katniss, I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment you pulled those berries. What was going on in your mind… hm?"

I'm not anticipating this answer, because I'm sure that I already know it. But when she says that she just couldn't bear the thought of being without me, my heart is soaring. I knew it. She loves me the exact same way that I love her.

Caesar asks, "Peeta? Anything to add?"

"No. I think that goes for both of us." I'm almost too happy to keep sitting still. Luckily, I don't have to, as moments later the interview ends. We're going home. Together.

Those thoughts repeat in my mind as Katniss goes up to her room to retrieve… whatever it is she needs to get before we go. Home. Together. It doesn't take her long to get back, but by the time she does, we're already being rushed to say what few goodbyes we can manage. Katniss hugs Cinna, and I go to Portia. She's beaming, and teary eyed at the same time, and I'm smiling back at her. She gets up on her tip-toes, and gives me a kiss on my cheek, "I'm going to miss you."

I give her the best hug I can manage with the cane, "Don't worry, I'm going to see you in only a few months. And then I won't have to use this thing," I joke and hold up my cane. "But I'll miss you, too." And I will. But honestly, it doesn't even amount to half of what I'm feeling about going home.

Effie is suddenly there, pointing to her watch, "Time to go." She sings. She's been beaming ever since we won.

Portia and I hug again, and I know that, out of everything, she's the only one I'll miss from the Capitol. Maybe Effie, a little, but not nearly as much as Portia. Katniss and I are reunited, and even though it's only been a minute, I feel like I haven't been with her in forever, and I wrap my arm around her shoulder. She looks up at me and smiles, and I _know_ this must be what it's going to be like for us forever. Even though it's kind of hard for me to walk to our train with my arm around her, I'm not going to drop it for the world.

We take our seats to get ready for an early dinner, and that's the first time I let go of her. Right after we're out of the tunnel, Katniss gets a strange look on her face, but I think it's because it's finally sunk in to her that we're going home. Effie claps as the food is set on the table, "Well, well, well. We've done it!"

Katniss whispers to me, "Of course she includes herself when she didn't really do anything."

I chuckle in agreement, but really I don't know if I agree with her. I mean, even though Effie wasn't in the Games with us and didn't even do as much as Haymitch, Portia, and Cinna did, she was still here for us. Everything in these Hunger Games happened for a reason, and everyone involved in our winning team has to be given some credit. Rather than talk, Katniss and I just stuff our faces. This is the last hugely-rich-Capitol-food meal we'll be having for months, and we aren't going to waste it.

Haymitch and Effie talk, though. More like bicker. But it's nice to hear. After the dessert is finished and we go to watch the replay of the interview, their snapping has turned into more biting than necessary, so I just say, "Why don't we watch the interview in peace?"

They glare at each other, but reluctantly just turn to watch the TV. Good. My arm is around Katniss, and as we watch ourselves onscreen, she hiding against my side, she's completely relaxed. But only a few minutes in, I can feel her start to tense up. Before I can ask what's wrong, she stands, "I have to go to the bathroom."

It becomes increasingly clear that she's more than just going to the bathroom when she doesn't return before the interview replay is over. Effie asks, "What do you think got into her?"

Concern edges into me, "Maybe she ate too much and isn't feeling well. I should go check on her."

Haymitch's hand on my shoulder stops me, "Just let her be, the girl will be fine." Then he stalks away, and mutters about how he has to talk to someone working in the coal room.

I don't really know what he means by that, but since he and Katniss seem to be pretty friendly lately, I listen to him. I'll wait a little bit longer, and if she's still not back yet, I'll look in and make sure she's okay. Thankfully, it's only a minute or so later when she makes her reappearance, and she's changed out of her dress, out of her makeup, with her hair in it's typical braid. She's never looked better. But that strange look is still on her face.

"Are you feeling all right?" I ask as she walks toward me.

She gives me a completely unconvincing, strained smile, "Yeah, of course."

I don't want to push, and I figure she'll tell me anything she wants me to know, so I just put my arm on her shoulder again and give her a genuine smile back, "And we're almost back home in District Twelve!"

I thought that would cheer her up, but instead she just has that same smile, "Right. I can't wait."

Haymitch makes his reappearance, "We're stopping for fuel." He seems to make some weird eye contact with Katniss before saying, "You two can get some fresh air without any escorts. Don't blow it."

I have no idea what he means, and even though some corner of my mind is telling me that something is off right now, I let it go. I do want a breath of fresh air. Air that isn't produced in the arena or the Capitol. Just some breathing room, where it can be just me and Katniss. As soon as the train stops, we're off.

The train is a lot longer than I remembered, and as we walk along the tracks, I move my arm from her shoulder to take her hand in mine, entwining our fingers, "It's nice to be away, just us again." She doesn't say anything back, only nods. "Are you sure you're feeling okay? You know, we don't have to sit out with Haymitch and Effie for the rest of the night. We can go lay down. Or, if you want to be alone for a little bit, you can do that, too." I know I don't want to be away from her, but I also know Katniss well enough to know that she isn't as social as I am, and sometimes she does just want to hide away by herself. Like in her sleeping bag in the Games, only now it would be her literally hiding from everyone.

She doesn't say anything as a response again, this time shaking her head. Maybe she just wants the silence, I think, some solitude while we're out here. I stop myself from making conversation, and we just walk. Up ahead, I see some really pretty flowers growing along the side. They're bright pink and white, and vibrant; not wilting at all. Beautiful, vibrant, and alive. Just like Katniss. I give her a smile and gesture at the flowers, before dropping her hand and walking over to pick them.

I first intended on picking up maybe one or two to tuck into her hair, but not that they're in my hands, I can't stop myself from picking over a dozen, forming a bouquet, before I stand and present them to my love. I'm starting to get really concerned that she's not feeling well, when her face goes a bit paler, and she struggles to give me a tense smile. Her hand on the stems of the flowers is tight and I put my hand on the small of her back, "Are you sure you're all right?"

She waves off my questions, "I told you, I'm fine."

Those remain to be her only words as we resume our walk. She holds the flowers in her hands, and even as I make lame attempts at conversation, I can tell she doesn't hear me and that her mind is on other things. The longer we walk, the worse she looks. Finally I stop, "What's wrong?"

I can't tell if she's startled or annoyed when she says, "Nothing." And then initiates our walk to continue. But there is clearly not 'nothing' wrong. Because it nothing was wrong, I wouldn't be feeling this anticipation and anxiety if there was nothing. It's like the same feeling I had on that last day in the Hunger Games.

Even when we reach the end of the train, we don't stop. I only slow down when I think I hear footsteps coming from behind, and all of the sudden Haymitch is with us, speaking before we can greet him, "Great job you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." And, just as quickly as he came, he's gone.

What was he talking about? 'Keep it up' and 'we should be okay'? I know it must have to do with when he said 'don't blow it' but I still don't know _what_. Then I realize that Katniss must know. I look at her, but she's making a point of looking down. The sinking feeling in my stomach expands. It has to be something bad. Sick of waiting for her to look at me, I just ask, "What's he mean?"

She tells me, "It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries."

But that still doesn't make any sense to me. What stunt? We're in love – I don't think anyone sees love as some 'stunt.' "What? What are you talking about?"

When she says, "They thought it was too rebellious." Make sense. I can understand why the Capitol didn't like the fact that we broke their rules, regardless of the reason. It makes sense. However, her next words, about how Haymitch has been coaching her through our return to the world, doesn't. Why wouldn't I need the same coaching? I could make a mistake that's vital in whatever plan she and Haymitch have hatched, whatever it may be. "Coaching you? But not me." I just can't wrap my mind around it.

She says, "He knew you were smart enough to get it right."

It just doesn't make sense. I'm smart enough? If anything, Katniss is smarter than me. Clearly she is, because she knew that there was something wrong and I didn't even know something was off. I say as much.

I wrack my brain, trying to think, what in the world am I smarter than Katniss at? I can't think of any answer other than lying, which makes no sense in this situation. So I try to think of what I've been doing in the past few days. There's nothing. Except just being with Katniss. Then it starts to occur to me what she's talking about, ""So, what you're saying is these past few days, and then I guess…" I'm starting to feel a little dizzy as it all dawns on me, "back in the arena… that was just some strategy you two worked out." My heart starts beating incredibly fast and I realize that it was a ploy. Like my strategy during my Caesar Flickerman interview, only I was being genuine. And she's not.

She stumbling over her words now, but she doesn't give a convincing defense. "No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, remember?"

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" Of course she did. She's a smart girl and she and Haymitch can read each other like no other. My chest is tight and anger – real, true anger – is welling up inside me. I already know what I've said is true, and yet I can't let go of this small – dumb – hope I have that I'm wrong. But when she bites her lip and doesn't respond right away after I ask, "Katniss?" That stupid light of hope is put out. I can't even bare to be touching her while these thoughts and feelings whirl through me, and I let her hand go like it's acidic.

I turn away and clench my hands, not sure whether or not I want to yell or cry or pretend I never heard the truth, but all I do is say, "It was all for the Games. How you acted." I'm expecting the tears that I'm always so susceptible to, and I'm not disappointed. My throat constricts, and I swallow them down before I can turn back to face her again.

"Not all of it," she tells me. Her hand is squeezing tightly onto the flowers I picked for her. It looks like she's strangling them, the same way this conversation is strangling me. The bouquet looks wrong in her hands now. It's not just a simple gesture of love – it's cruelly mocking me.

My voice is tight from the tears I'm holding in as I ask, "Then how much of it? No, forget that." I think for a moment, trying to calm myself before I add on, "I guess what's going to be left when we get home?" I think of all the expectations I had for our future. Dating, being a real couple, not in the arena. Maybe even marriage or kids and a real _life_. And I know that no matter what she says, none of that is going to be possible. Because she doesn't want it.

But, like the idiot I am, I stand, waiting for her answer. Finally, she says, "I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get." Then she pauses. As I wait for her to keep going, I realize that it wasn't a pause. It was the end of her statement.

All I can manage to say is, "Well, let me know what you work it out." Then I turn my back to her, and my face crumples, the tears no longer being able to be put on hold. I get back to the door to the train quickly, and I make a half-hearted attempt at wiping my tears and snot away, but it doesn't really matter what I look like.

Effie sees me immediately and starts asking questions, but I'm not in the mindset or temperament to deal with her right now. I can see Haymitch out of the corner of my eye, and I realize that I've never had this strong of an impulse to punch someone in the face. I break into a run to my room before I slam the door behind me, and lock it.

And then I don't know what to do with myself. I stand with my back to the door, my mind replaying with images from the Hunger Games. I hardly even remember walking to the desk and pulling out paper, but here I am, drawing out moments that I thought were perfect. Times in the cave, gestures that were so telling. Blood rushes in my ears, and tears mark the pages. It's hours before I'm done, but by the time it's dark out, everything is finished. There are over fifty drawings in total.

Then I go through each one and rip them into little, tiny pieces, and sprinkle them into the trash. Where all those phony memories belong. I don't realize how long that took me, until I look outside and see daylight. And I realize that my tears are gone. My sadness remains, but the tears are gone. I feel like I had to have cried myself dry.

I don't bother changing my clothes as I flop onto the bed. Until I realize that these clothes, these beautiful clothes that Portia made for me, are tainted with the love I felt for Katniss only yesterday. With the love I still feel. They're soiled by the lies I learned of yesterday. I don't bother to stand up as I lay here and strip down to my underwear. What does it matter? What does really anything matter anymore? Those are my last thoughts before I slip into my day of fitful sleep.

I first wake up to knocking on my door. It's Effie's voice, and I think I hear real concern as she asks, "Are you coming out for lunch?"

My voice is weak and raspy as I answer, "No." And I hear her footsteps as she walks away.

Then I fall asleep again, waking up to a side of my bed inching down. I open my eyes, and see Haymitch. "You're up." His tone is flat.

I say nothing in return. That's as much as I have to say to him. I only look at him blankly. I don't even want to do that. I don't want to see his face.

He gestures to the bedside table, "I brought you some food. You missed every meal today."

I look over and see it, then shrug. I'm not hungry.

He heaves a sigh, "Katniss isn't being a chatty person lately, either. But I'm guessing she told you…" he trails off.

Now I speak, "Yeah. She told me about how everything she said and did was a lie you two came up with. Thanks for letting me think she really loved me back."

He looks at me in alarm, "Be quiet." Then he looks around, before standing, "This is bigger than you. It's bigger than any single person. So shut up and stop being such a little bitch about everything." Then he leaves, and I hear him lock the door from the outside. Good.

But I don't know how it affects other people, and I don't want to think about it, either. For now, right now, I want to stop thinking about taking care of anyone else's needs except for Peeta's. And now, when I lay back and think about everything, I don't feel that crushing depression of yesterday. I feel rage. Did I say before that she couldn't lie? Because now I'm certain she's the best con woman alive.

I didn't even think I could ever feel this way about Katniss, but I didn't think she was lying about us, either. She just thinks I'm the biggest fool. All of Panem must. Because it was fake. We were fake. My dream come true, the best time of my life is just a sham. Every time I thought she enjoyed being in my arms as much as I enjoyed having her there, every time I thought she elated in our kissing the way I did, whenever she took care of me, it was all an act.

I lay awake all night. I want to sleep, but every time I let myself doze off, I end up having dreams of Katniss. Katniss really loving me. And when I wake up, it's terrible, because it's all not true. By the next morning, when Effie knocks on the door and tells me we'll be arriving in District Twelve in an hour, I get up and make myself shower before getting dressed. And I realize as I make my way to the compartment that we'll be getting off of, that the anger is gone. There is no more fury, no more sadness. I just feel… empty.

As I stand next to her on the train, for the first time the closeness to Katniss doesn't excite me. There's nothing inside me to excite. No tears are clogging my throat, clouding my eyes. There is no more of anything left. There's nothing.

I offer my hand to her and ask, "One more time? For the audience?" As she takes it, I realize I didn't have to say that last part. For her, everything has been for the audience.

She doesn't care about me, she doesn't love me back. Her actions weren't because she couldn't live without me, they were to play the crowd. Someone has reached into my chest and taken out my heart, and stomped out all of the blood. And the stomper is Katniss Everdeen. Now it's back in my chest, beating and making me breath. I survived, but I am no longer living.

* * *

**And this is it!Please give me some feedback in a review.  
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**Thank you so much to everyone who's read it and enjoyed. **

**Also, I've decided to write Catching Fire from Peeta's point of view! But don't expect it to be up for another two or three weeks.  
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